


The End of the Rainbow

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-26
Updated: 2008-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Cami</p><p>The survivors of Gauda Prime continue the desperate fight against the Federation, with conflicts of loyality and betrayal complicating the already harrowing struggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).
> 
> Previously published in The Big Blake's 7 Zine
> 
> Formatting as on Hermit.org

Prologue:

Tight lipped and pale, Avon hobbled across the width of the small cell, aiming for the sanitation facilities on the far wall. His extremities were still partially numb while the rest of him was racked with cramps, the aftereffects of multiple stun charges. Perversely, he welcomed the pain. If he thought about it, he didn't think about the consummate disaster that had occurred on Gauda Prime. Keeping regret a small part of life wasn't proving easy after that debacle. Behind him Tarrant moaned softly, reminding Avon why he was propped in front of the shallow sink. Tarrant was thirsty. Despite having the release valve set on full open, only a small trickle of brackish water dripped from the single spout. It seemed to take several eternities to dampen the square of cloth that he had placed over the drain. When it was saturated, Avon plucked it out and walked with hesitant, unsure steps to where his shipmate was sprawled on the hard platform that served as the cell's only furniture. Tarrant sensed his presence and opened his eyes. Ignoring the fiery throbbing in his back, Avon crouched beside him. "There is no cup and very little water, but this should help." He twisted the ragged cloth, coaxing precious drops of moisture to fall onto Tarrant's lips. The young man licked them into his mouth. After repeating the tedious procedure two more times, Tarrant indicated that he was satisfied. "Thank you," he whispered. "Tell me where it hurts," Avon instructed as his hands began a gentle examination of the pilot's body. "Worst there," Tarrant said, flinching when fingers probed at his left side. He managed a weak smile. "But not much better anywhere else." "They'll leave you alone now," Avon predicted joylessly. "I've told them that you didn't know Orac's location. They appeared to believe me." "You didn't have to..." Tarrant paused to suck in a shallow breath, "do that." "I found the sight of them beating you senseless for information that you didn't have distasteful." The crude interrogation process had roused Avon from unconsciousness, to a world that he'd hoped never to see again. Tarrant grabbed weakly at Avon's sleeve. "They'll hurt you next. T-tell them where it is. Doesn't matter now. All over." "All over," Avon echoed while his hand subconsciously soothed across Tarrant's curls. "She won." "Servalan?" "She was here, earlier, gloating over her victory. You were so groggy, I'm not surprised that you don't remember. Though she didn't say, I believe they've already found Orac. It wasn't that well hidden." "Did she mention the others?" "No." Tarrant sighed desolately then closed his eyes. Avon backed soundlessly from the bunk, hoping that Tarrant would sleep. There was precious little other comfort that he could offer his injured shipmate.

They'd come for him soon after that, and he'd never seen Del Tarrant again. Until now. The face on the viewscreen was older and had changed more than would seem possible in two years, but it was unmistakably Tarrant. "You are sure this is the man?" Avon asked. Grant's sober voice came from behind him. "I'm sure. I lost two operatives before a third managed to penetrate the Space Systems Development Complex. This information was bought with blood. I'm sure." Grant reached over Avon's shoulder to jab at the picture on the monitor. "The tall man on the right is the Federation's prize scientist, the one who gave them the star drive. The one who is this close," Grant's thumb and index finger moved to within a hair's width of each other, "to gifting them with a teleport." "Has Blake seen this vid-disk?" "He didn't have time." Grant swung around to perch on the desk, facing Avon. "Blake listened to my report and congratulated me on a job well done. Then he loaned me Orac and requested that I work up a plan to stop //that bastard//," he nodded to the screen. "Orac identified Tarrant." "And have you worked up a plan?" "Give me a break, I've only been back for six hours." The blond man shrugged. "I still have an agent inside the facility." "Assassination then?" "Do we have a choice? According to Orac, this man is the singlemost threat to the rebel cause in the Federation. If they get a teleport... Well, you know what a disaster that would be." Avon's focus drifted back to the lanky figure on the screen. "Tarrant saved my life on numerous occasions." Grant nodded, his blue eyes understanding but wary. "Dayna talks about him. That's why I thought you had a right to know." "You'll tell her?" "Not me." A dreamy smile teased across the mercenary's face. "I only have twelve hours before I ship out. I don't intend to spend that time in a futile argument." "She'll be furious." Grant stood, yawning. "I know that, but her temper will have cooled by the time I get back again." He patted Avon's shoulder, "Take care," then started for the door. * * * There was a time when Avon could have walked into Blake's office on a whim, but that was before the rebellion had grown so large that bureaucracy was the order of the day. Now one had to talk their way through three levels of administrative staff, have an appointment a month in advance, or try to catch the rebel commander in a rare moment of off-duty leisure. Avon didn't have the time or patience for any of the acceptable procedures to scale the bureaucratic mountain. Therefore, the mountain would have to come to him. In the cafeteria, he let slip that he had developed schematics for an ultralinear time warp drive. An hour later, he was summoned to Blake's presence. Blake rose to greet him, a smile stretching from ear to ear. "I just heard," he said, reaching out but stopping short of actually touching Avon. "Congratulations. Do you know what this means? With this new capability, we will save..." "An ultralinear time warp drive is an impossibility. It defies the laws of physics. No legitimate scientist would waste time on it. If you had bothered to read my reports, you would know that I've been concentrating on breaking the Federation's Arno-X code." "But...I don't understand." Blake's eyes were puzzled and disappointed. "Deva said that..." "I needed to see you on a matter of some urgency so I started a rumor that was sure to reach your ears and capture your attention." Anger blazed across Blake's face. "Damn you, Avon. To steal your way into my office is bad enough, but did you have to use that particular ploy? For a minute..." "...you saw victory within your grasp," Avon finished wryly. "We all have to live with disappointment." "I should have you thrown out on your ear or locked up in detention." "But then you would have to admit that you were fooled by a story that was so obviously a lie that a student engineer would have seen through it. Wouldn't it be better to hear me out and give credence to this meeting?" Avon tossed a vid-disk case across the desk. "Look at this." "I don't have time," Blake protested, but his fingers obediently freed the disk and inserted it in the appropriate slot on his computer display. "What is it?" "Watch." Blake dimmed the lights and pressed the start button. Though he had the scenario memorized, Avon's eyes gravitated to the monitor. In the opening sequence, the picture was fuzzy and at an odd angle. Gradually, it came into focus and leveled to a horizontal plane. It showed three men in white coveralls working in a laboratory setting. The tallest of the group, whose back was to the camera, was poking at an object that rested on a lab bench, presumably talking to his two silent observers. Since there was no audio, that was a matter of conjecture. The lens zoomed in until the device being examined was shown in full detail. "A teleport interface," Blake said. His eyes shot to Avon. "This is the material that Grant brought back from Galinum." "Watch the monitor," Avon instructed. Abruptly the picture jiggled. Something had prompted the man operating the camera to scan away from the interface. A glare filled the screen as it panned over an expanse of ivory cloth. "This is not very interesting," Blake grumbled, obviously still perturbed by Avon's devious method of gaining his office. Avon didn't reply, allowing the movie to make his point. The camera steadied again, on a field of human flesh that swiftly sharpened to a close-up of a face. "Freeze it there." "The Federation miracle worker," Blake guessed, unimpressed. For a second, Avon was shaken. Blake hadn't recognized...but then his acquaintance with Tarrant had been brief. And the pilot had been bruised and bloody at the time. "You know that man," he pointed out. Blake slowly advanced the picture, frame by frame. "Tarrant," he finally cried. "So he didn't die on Gauda Prime; he sold out. I was right not to trust him." Avon eyed him sharply. "Tarrant wouldn't sell out," he said quietly but firmly. "I'm sure that he is not cooperating voluntarily." "Come now. I told you what Deva discovered in the secured files. Your Tarrant was cousin to the agent who betrayed me. That's why I tested him on Gauda Prime. Treachery runs in the family. According to Orac, this mystery scientist has been providing technical expertise for almost two years. That does not sound like a coerced alliance." "Blake, you of all people should realize what the Federation can do to a man's mind." "Exactly. And I know that the drugs necessary to maintain docility in a rebellious individual would not permit the type of highly sophisticated work that Tarrant is performing. The chemicals dull the brain." "You are thinking of your own case. There are other..." "What does Orac say?" Avon shrugged. He had been afraid--no, he had been sure-- that Blake would ask that question. "Orac can not find data that would support my theory. That does not mean that it doesn't exist. It is only a computer and limited by the knowledge available to it. As we both know, the Federation has developed something that is impervious to Orac's intrusion. That's why the stardrive-powered ships took us by surprise. The only way Orac found out about the teleport project was by analyzing supply requisitions. It is possible that the Federation has tampered with Tarrant without leaving evidence visible to Orac. I've done research on various psychomanipulation techniques and...." "Avon, Avon, Avon," Blake covered his hands before he could reach in his pocket for the second vid-disk. "I know what you're trying to do and I understand, but this debate really has no fruitful purpose. Whether Del Tarrant is doing this voluntarily or not, he must be stopped. Grant will handle it." "Grant will kill him." "Trying to effect change requires difficult choices. Your loyalty to your ex-shipmate is commen..." "I'm quite familiar with loyalty."

//"So get out of here will you," Tarrant ordered, his voice strained from the effort of piloting the dead ship, "there's no sense in both of us dying."//

//"Avon!" Some corner of his mind heard Tarrant call his name and realized that the pilot was risking his own safety to try to help him.//

//"You didn't have to do that," Tarrant said, protesting his telling the Federation interrogator that the young man couldn't possibly know where Orac was. Protesting because, "They'll hurt you next."//

"There were internal injuries from the crash. I thought he was dead." "What are you talking about?" Avon blinked himself back to the present, wondering how long he had been lost in the past. Long enough to draw Blake's attention. The rebel leader was looking at him with concern. "Blake, you owe me," he said, playing on the other man's conscience. "I want a chance to go after Tarrant." "I won't allow it. It could very well be a suicidal mission. Grant already lost two men getting this information." "It is my right to take that risk." "You are too valuable. What if they capture you? Think of what..." "I don't intend this to be a one-way trip." Avon leaned against Blake's desk, holding the other man's eyes until Blake broke the contact. "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this." "No, you're not. I will go with or without your approval. And I expect Dayna, Soolin, and Vila will insist on accompanying me." "Vila. He's a cripple. He won't be able to help you." Avon smiled. "Vila is still the best lockpick in intergalactic space. He'll do this, for old time's sake." "Your Tarrant better be worth it. If he turns out to be a traitor, I will personally skin him alive." * * * "What do you mean that Tarrant is alive?" Vila's startled exclamation was mirrored in Dayna and Soolin's faces. The four of them were gathered in Vila's cottage. It was located on the outskirts of a modest-size city, a long flyer hop from Blake's headquarters on Horizon but near the medical services that Vila's condition required. Avon handed them a packet that contained five still pictures extracted from the disk. "I don't know how...but he is. Blake's people searched the base when they rescued us. The Federation must have already moved Tarrant somewhere else, possibly off planet." He rubbed his hands over his eyes. "He is most definitely alive." "They've had him for...," Vila pressed at his fingers, calculating the interval since Gauda Prime, "...twenty-three months." Dayna's hands were trembling as she passed the pictures to Vila. After a quick glance at the strained face in the top photograph, Vila shuffled them on to Soolin. "What are we going to do?" he asked. "I am going to Galinum," Avon said. "That's where this Federation Space Systems Complex is," Soolin said, fingering the photo of the laboratory. "Security is going to be tight." Vila wheeled his chair to a cabinet on the far side of the room. Inside was a small chest that he carried on his lap back to where the group was seated about a table. "It's lucky then that I've kept my skills sharpened," he said, displaying a set of lockpicking tools. "Damn that Grant." Dayna stood and paced, her lithe body taut with anger. "He's on Galinum, isn't he?" Avon nodded. "Good," she smiled ferally. "I wonder what he'll look like with his cock in his mouth." "Silly," Vila suggested, trying to ease the tension that permeated the room. "When do we leave?" * * * Arriving on Galinum, they had barely completed a post-flight check when Grant appeared at the hatch of their ship, seeking admittance. "Hear him out before you get violent," Vila told Dayna as they waited for the mercenary to make his way to the flight deck. "I expected you all to show up," Grant said, pausing cautiously on the threshold. Dayna glided in his direction. "I'll just bet you did," she purred. Avon put out a hand to stop her while directing his words to Grant. "I trust that you haven't solved Blake's problem yet." Three sets of eyes snapped towards Avon as his shipmates realized why he had insisted on haste. Soolin voiced what they all were thinking, "Blake was going to kill Tarrant." Grant shrugged noncommittally. "As I said, I've been waiting for you." He stretched out his right arm so that they could see the large envelope in his hand. "Blueprints of the complex," he explained. He tapped his head, "And information. My operative, Tayl, has done some checking. Tarrant never leaves the grounds. Tayl couldn't find out where his living quarters are located; you'll have to snatch Tarrant from the lab itself." "That's unfortunate," Avon said. "I had hoped to avoid the complex entirely, the research facilities in particular." He accepted the packet and extracted the contents. "This will help. Thank you." "There's something else." Grant hesitated then continued, "You'll have to make your move right away." "Why is that?" Dayna asked, her stiff voice proclaiming that she hadn't come close to forgiving him. The blond man settled in a chair, rubbing a hand to his jaw. "Tayl managed to slip Tarrant an antidote, on the chance that he was being given psycholucinogenic drugs." "Psycholucinogens are used to sustain conditioning," Vila said in response to the questioning looks on the women's faces. "Was he conditioned?" Soolin asked. "Apparently so. Now it's breaking down. He's been judged unstable, and they may decide to terminate him." "Grant," the rest of Dayna's angry words were drowned under Avon's, "What gave you the right to interfere?" "I did you a favor," Grant said unruffled. "Now he's likely to know you're on his side and cooperate with his rescue." He pointed to the diagrams still clutched in Avon's hands. "Shall we get down to business. I don't know about the four of you, but I'd like to get this over with. I'm as concerned about my operative as you are about your former pilot." * * * At some point in time, he had understood where he was and why, but now Tarrant's thoughts were reduced to confused gibberish. He drifted endlessly in a void where nothing existed, including himself. There was nothing to see, hear, taste or smell. Even touch was limited to the mildest sensations. He was floating in mid air, arms and legs loosely restrained so that they were stretched to their full lengths. There was no up or down. No anchor on which to orient his body or his mind. There was nothing. He was buried alive in nothing. Panic welled in him. He wanted to cry out for help but his lips wouldn't move. Time was forever in his vacuous eternity, ticking away with an unending sameness. Ever so slowly, his anxiety mutated to terror. Seconds stretched for years, allowing the terror to build and swell inside him until it bubbled free as wild hysteria. He would have pulled his hair out, clawed and bit at his flesh, done anything to affirm his existence, if the restraints hadn't prevented it. A scream of madness filled his mind. It shrilled perpetually, continuing long after any comprehension of it faded. When only blankness remained, the voices began, gently reawakening his consciousness to a stream of propaganda, while his body continued to float in its barren womb.

Tarrant shuddered when awareness returned. A distasteful mingling of antiseptics and perfume clogged his nostrils, causing his nose to twitch. He could sense hands releasing the padded cuffs that secured his wrists and ankles, and detaching sensors from his forehead and chest. Sharp twinges accompanied the removal of intravenous and catheter lines. The tape was already gone from his mouth. There was gravity in the room again. The interminable night was finally over. The patches were lifted from his eyes and light flooded his optic nerves. He squinted against the discomforting brightness, watching an army of fuzzy bodies scurry from the room. Three figures remained: his two guards, assigned to protect him, and the woman who hovered beside the treatment table. "How are you feeling?" she asked, curving her hand to his cheek. "I'm fine," he said, sliding from under her caress and climbing shakily to his feet. She draped a robe over his shoulders. "Are you up to going to the lab today?" "Yes." He shrugged his arms into the sleeves, tied the sash, and brushed out of the chamber into the adjacent apartment. "Shouldn't I be?" "You have been working too hard again," she scolded softly. "The director very generously allowed you time off for therapy." "I'm fine now," he insisted, afraid that any other response would send him back to the sensory deprivation chamber. "How long was it...this time?" "Don't think about that; it's over." "How long?" "Forty hours." //Forty hours!// No wonder he felt weak and disoriented. Tarrant paused to rub his still light-sensitive eyes, and her hands reached for him again. It sent shivers up his spine. He turned to her, studying the familiar face, remembering her expression when she had hooked him up to the chamber's technology. She had been sympathetic then, except...except for the faintest hint of satisfaction far back in her eyes, as if part of her enjoyed his discomfort and fright. Or had he imagined that? "Do you love me?" he blurted out. Surprise, then hurt, washed across her face, and he was immediately ashamed of his unkind thoughts. "Del, I hope you're teasing. Of course I love you. You mean everything in the world to me." "Then why...why?" His eyes focused on the deprivation chamber door. "Darling, I don't like putting you through that, but it's necessary for your health. Like a bad-tasting medicine, the benefits are worth the temporary unpleasantness." She squeezed his hand then gave him a gentle push toward his bedroom. "Get freshened up. I'm going to make your breakfast." Confused, he chided himself for his childish behavior, striking out to punish her for the hateful therapy. She loved him and loathed the treatments as much as he did. It was inconceivable that she would relish his distress. He was simply befuddled. The therapy sessions always left him feeling insecure and vulnerable. In the privacy of his room, he found himself staring into a mirror. "Please help me," he begged, without knowing to whom he was speaking or why. * * * "Thanks to Tayl we know exactly where Tarrant will be today," Grant said as his fingers roamed over the map of the primary research building. "He'll be in one of these three labs on the second floor. There are troopers posted at the stairwells and the lift. You'll have to decide which route to take when you get inside. Remember, he has two bodyguards who are with him constantly." "Are we sure Tarrant *is* at work?" Avon asked. He had been troubled when they hadn't been able to make their move yesterday as originally planned. "Yes," Grant said patiently. "Tayl's signal confirmed that." Sensing Avon's unspoken question, he added, "I told you that it wasn't unusual for Tarrant to be absent for a day. They were probably reinforcing the conditioning. Let's hope Tayl has a chance to administer another dose of antidote." Soolin put her hand on Vila's shoulder. "Are you sure you are going to be all right?" "I only have to unlock the door to the lab building," he replied, "then Grant will teleport me back to the ship. It's a supply door, back in an alley. There shouldn't be a problem." Grant nodded. "Tayl should be here by then as well. That leaves the three of you to pull Tarrant. As soon as you get into the open, signal me for teleport." "That's it then," Avon said. "Not quite." Grant looked at each of them in turn. "If he won't come with you, you know what you have to do." "We'll get him out," Dayna snarled. * * * The visions were coming again, making it difficult for Tarrant to concentrate. He pretended to study the set of figures displayed on his computer screen, not wanting anyone to suspect. If they thought he was ill, they'd schedule him for more therapy. He wished the images flashing across his brain would stay long enough for him to understand them. Most of them were of familiar faces that he couldn't identify and strange places that he'd never been. He heard the door to the lab slide open. Before he could turn to see who had entered, the explosive sound of weaponry thundered through the room. Instinctively, he jerked to his feet, eyes darting about. His guards were slumped on the floor. A man and woman filled the doorway, the woman's back to him. The man was staring his way, his gun pointed at Tarrant's chest. "A-Avon," the name spilled from Tarrant's lips as memories flooded his brain. In an instant, all of the images made sense and he understood what had happened to him. The Federation had used him cruelly, forcing him to betray both his ideals and his friends. He looked at Avon, his stomach lurching with fright. "Are you going to kill me?" he whispered. "That depends..." The wry, familiar voice acted as a stabilizing factor. It allowed Tarrant to retain control over the jumble of integrating memories that were threatening to overwhelm him. "I'm sorry," he offered, knowing how terribly inadequate that was when compared to his corrupt deeds. For a long moment, Avon's dark eyes bore into him as if they were scanning his very brain. Then what passed for a smile softened his grim features. "You'll have time to apologize later," he said briskly. "Come on, we could use your help in fighting our way out of here." There was the shrill whine of nearby gunfire. The soldier in Tarrant wasn't surprised. Every trooper in the building was probably converging on the laboratory. He detoured toward the dead guards and snatched one of their guns from the floor. "Put this on." Avon handed him a teleport bracelet and pushed him after Dayna who was racing across the outer lab to the door that led to the corridor. "The building is shielded," Tarrant warned, clipping the circle to his wrist on the run. "We know," Avon answered briefly then spoke into his bracelet. "Soolin, plan B. We'll meet you at the north stairwell." Not allowing anything to cloud his thoughts, Tarrant focused on their escape. Joining Soolin, the four of them blasted a path to the exit, their actions so coordinated that the two years apart might have been a dream. Then they were outside the building. Avon called, "Grant, now." There was a sharp, female cry as the teleport effect misted over them. * * * "Scanners clear," Vila reported, unbuckling his safety harness. To his left, Tarrant appeared frozen over the bank of instruments. Avon noticed as well. He nodded to Vila then said, "Release control to me, Tarrant. I'll put the ship on automatics." Vila didn't need a medical degree to recognize the signs of stress that radiated from Tarrant. He had held together remarkably well for a man newly freed of conditioning. Flying the ship had helped, keeping him too busy to brood. Now other distractions might be required. Stretching an arm, Vila thumped Tarrant's back. "Make yourself useful, you big lummox. Get me my hover chair." "Your hover chair?" Tarrant's eyes scanned down. "Wh- what's the matter with your legs?" he asked, stuttering slightly. "A spinal injury," Avon answered for him. After setting new coordinates and engaging the navigation computer, he fetched the chair from a locker and unfolded it. "On Gauda Prime?" Tarrant guessed. "Yes." Vila slid into the chair that Avon held steady beside his flight seat. "I've been getting the best medical care," he hastened to add. "They think I might even walk again some day soon." "That's good." Tarrant stood and paced about the small flight deck, his eyes often returning to where Vila sat in the mechanized chair. "Where are we going?" "We can't tell you that...yet," Avon said. "Not until Blake clears you." Avon nodded to the flight controls. "I know it would be quite easy for you to figure out our destination, but I trust that you won't try." "I won't. You have my word." Tarrant stared into space for several seconds, his eyes a mix of distraction and confusion, then said, "You're with Blake? Then he's alive as well. I seem to remember realizing that his bounty hunter routine was an act." "That's right," Vila said. "It was his people who rescued us. We looked for you. We thought you were dead." "No," Tarrant sighed deeply. "I was taken to Galinum. They kept me secluded. I never heard any newscasts. I didn't know what had happened to the rest of you." "What did they tell you?" Avon asked. "How did they obtain your cooperation?" "Messed with my mind. After that, I didn't remember any of you until recently, until that man..." He scanned the flight deck, searching for Tayl. "Grant's debriefing him in one of the cabins," Vila explained. Tarrant flinched, his face going pale. "Some one is going to want to question me as well." He glanced from Vila to Avon, his eyes pleading. "I'll tell you everything I know about what technical information I gave them. But no drugs, please. And don't ask me about anything else." "No one will do anything you don't want," Vila assured him, looking to Avon for confirmation. The tech's eyes were impassive. "You're our friend," Vila added, as much talking to Avon as to Tarrant. "Perhaps you should get some rest," Avon said. "Vila, show him to a cabin." "We have one ready for you," Vila recalled cheerfully as Tarrant started for the exit. "There's a change of clothes and everything you'll need. Dayna and Soolin took care of that." Tarrant paused in the doorway. "How is Soolin?" "Resting comfortably," Avon reported. "The wound was only superficial. Dayna cleaned and dressed it." "I guess I was too busy flying the ship to notice much of what was going on," Tarrant said, tugging at the long curls that brushed against his neck. There was a desperate smile on his face. "I think everything is beginning to catch up with me. A nap might be a good idea." "Then stop blocking the door," Vila said, "so I can get by and show you where to go." He powered up his chair and set it in motion. * * * "I hate this contraption," Vila grumbled two days later as he maneuvered the hoverchair onto the flight deck. "It almost dumped me on my head a minute ago. I'll be glad to get back home to my wheelchair." Dayna rested her hand on the chair's high back. "But this is much more versatile," she said. "If you'd practice with it..." "I'd be even more crippled than I am," Vila contended. "It doesn't like me." His eyes darted about the small room. "Avon isn't back yet?" Dayna shook her head. "He must still be chatting with Blake on the secured communication channel. What about the others?" "Soolin promised to keep Tarrant in the galley so the rest of us could talk. I checked Grant's cabin," Vila smiled slyly, remembering his surreptitious entry and exit, "they're both sleeping." "So that only leaves...Avon," Dayna's voice rose as the computer tech brushed into the room. "What did Blake say?" "What I predicted he would say. He won't allow Tarrant on the base without a full debriefing, including a psych evaluation." "Tarrant's already told us everything about the status of the teleport project," Dayna said. "He's worn himself out putting all of that data into the computer." "But he refuses to talk about how they conditioned him," Vila said glumly. "And Blake won't trust him without having that information." "As well as a security clearance," Avon added. "He won't issue that until after a session with Orac, conducted under the influence of truth drugs." Dayna frowned, tapping her fingers on the flight console. "We trust him. That should be enough." "I don't blame Blake," Avon said. "He is showing the same caution that I would were I in his shoes." "Where does that leave us?" Vila asked. "We can't force Blake's interrogation and tests on Tarrant. We'd be no better than the Federation." Avon caught Vila's eyes and held them. "If Tarrant were allowed time to recover first, he might be more amenable to the necessary security procedures. We could send him home with you for now." "Me? Babysitting a former hotshot pilot with cobwebs in his brain. Don't I have troubles enough of my own?" "It's a wonderful idea," Dayna applauded. "I could teach Tarrant how to administer your therapy. That would spare Soolin and me our daily trips. And you wouldn't miss any sessions when we're off planet." "We could hire a thera... Oh, all right," Vila capitulated. He had known as soon as Avon had suggested the solution that he wouldn't refuse. He wasn't even sure why he had made a token protest. Having Tarrant about wouldn't be so bad. He would enjoy the company. He might even instruct the pilot on the finer points of blackjack, then beat the pants off him. * * * "Strip blackjack?" Tarrant questioned dubiously. "I've already won your wages for the next ten years," Vila said, "and you don't even have a job. We have to do something to make the game interesting. This will provide a tangible reward." "I don't consider being treated to a peek at your naked body a reward." Vila grinned smugly. "You aren't going to win anyway. And I think it would be fun to see you in your skivvies." "I'm not wearing skivvies," Tarrant said, gesturing to his sleepwear and robe. "Oh, very well." He smiled indulgently. "I suppose you deserve to amuse yourself at my expense. I know it can't be easy living with me." "Don't go getting gloomy." "I'm not, merely stating a fact." Tarrant held out the cards for Vila to cut. "I'll deal." "Do you want to talk about it?" Vila asked, taking a peek at his down card. "No." "You were screaming," Vila said softly, remembering the shrill sounds that had pulled him awake. "It was a dream." "You have a lot of those." "Only when I'm asleep. I won't have one now. Do you want another card or not?" "Hit me." Tarrant flipped up the deuce of diamonds. "Blackjack," Vila yelled, exposing his hidden card. "Huh? What? Vila, you're crazy. You don't ask for another card when you already have nineteen points." "It worked. I guess you lose your robe." Tarrant dropped the remainder of the deck onto the small table. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to play." Jumping to his feet, he padded over to one of the windows and stared into the dark. "You're a poor..." Vila bit back his teasing when he noticed that Tarrant was visibly trembling. After some tricky maneuvering, he worked his way from behind the table and wheeled to where his shipmate stood. "I don't need anything," Tarrant said, aware of Vila behind him. "Go to bed. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." "I don't mind. I want to help. Why won't you let me? Or someone else, if you'd rather? A psychotherapist?" "I can work through it myself." Tarrant turned, his face a controlled mask of Alpha arrogance. "It takes time. Like your injury, Vila. Healing can't happen overnight." "I'm not trying to do it myself." Vila edged his chair forward until he was bumping against Tarrant's legs. "You always called me a coward, Tarrant, but you're a bigger one. That's why you won't talk to us, because you're afraid to admit to any weaknesses. Do you think being conditioned is something to be ashamed of? You couldn't have prevented it." "I know that." "Then talk about it. Stop trying to hold it all inside." "The nightmare...," Tarrant paused and licked his lips. "I dreamt I was back in the sensory deprivation chamber. It was as if I didn't exist in there. They used it to lower my resistance whenever they wanted to reinforce their lies." "It must have been pretty horrible," Vila said, basing his estimate more on Tarrant's strained appearance than on the little information he had shared. "It was." Tarrant inhaled a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to relax. "But that wasn't the worst." "What was the worst?" "Some...something private. Nothing you need to know. Nothing that Blake needs to know. I wish he'd give me something to do. This sitting around is...is..." "You don't like my company?" Vila quipped. Tarrant blushed. "That's not it at all. You've been more than kind and patient. But I'm bored. It's not as if you need me. You do remarkably well for a..." His blush deepened. "...cripple," Vila finished. "I don't mind saying it. It's true." "But maybe not for long. Your legs are getting stronger." "Yeah," Vila said, trying not to sound discouraged. "I managed two whole steps yesterday. Come on," he tugged at Tarrant's sleeve, "if we aren't going to play cards, let's get back to bed." * * * "That was wonderful," Dayna said, patting her belly contentedly. "Well, it's wonderful to have you back safe and sound," Vila countered. "I worry when Blake sends the three of you off on his hairbrained schemes." "This was one of Avon's hairbrained schemes," Soolin revealed, "and Blake, himself, came with us." "Oh?" Vila cocked his head, curious to hear more. Avon slanted a glance at Tarrant. "It's nothing that exciting," he insisted. Tarrant picked up on what Avon wasn't saying. He stood and started gathering the dishes. "I'll clean up," he offered. "Why don't you take Vila out on the deck. He should be getting some sun on these beautiful spring days." "So tell me what you're up to?" Vila asked when they were basking in the warm air. "I don't know." Avon peered through the glass doors to where they could see Tarrant diligently working in the kitchen alcove. "He's not going to listen. He knows he's not supposed to hear. That's why he volunteered to do the dishes. Come on, Avon. We trust him even if Blake doesn't." "I suppose so." Dayna stretched her legs, propping them on an empty bench. "Don't mind him, Vila. He's tired and a tad cranky." "He's been up all day and night working on his latest project," Soolin added. "Which is?" Vila asked impatiently. "We went to Sardos," Dayna explained. "I remember that place. Tall and Toothy forced me to go there with him. He stuck a gun in my face. That was before he nearly got me killed fighting some hardened Federation types. And before Servalan tried to rape me. I was lucky to get out of that one with my virginity intact." Soolin giggled. "Nothing quite so exciting happened this time. Avon did salvage what was left of the replicating equipment." "After we left, the natives revolted against that band of Federation thugs," Avon reported. "Then they smashed most of the duplicating machinery, hoping it would make their planet less attractive to future invasions." "Which worked," Dayna said. "Servalan returned, with a sizable fleet to back her, but there was nothing left of interest." "Do you think you can get any of it operational?" Vila asked Avon. "It's too soon to tell." "You haven't heard the best," Soolin said. "The natives had hidden every scrap of debris and weren't about to part with it, but the Great Communicator stepped in." Dayna stood and puffed out her chest. In a deep voice, she recited, "Remember, I'm not doing this just for myself. It will be to your benefit to have the tyrannical Federation overthrown. As long as they exist, they are a threat to every man, woman, and child in our galaxy. Considering your past involvement with them, I'd think you'd realize how very corrupt they are. We are friends by virtue of having a mutual enemy." "So they gave it to him, of course," Soolin finished, applauding Dayna's speech. "It was lucky he came along. Avon wasn't getting anywhere." "Blake has his uses." Avon pushed to his feet and brushed a smudge of powdered sugar from his green suede jacket. "We should be getting back." "So soon?" "I have a lot to do." Dayna put her hand to Soolin's shoulder. "And we have an early morning." She looked at Vila. "We're off again, but we should be back in a week." "We'll have another dinner then," Vila proposed. Dayna chucked him under his chin. "You do know the way to a woman's heart, Vila." "Tarrant helped." "Then we better thank him as well." Soolin opened the glass door with one hand and tugged at Dayna with her other. While the women bid good-bye to Tarrant, Avon leaned against the railing, gazing out over the countryside. "How is everything here?" "I'm managing a couple of steps now and then. I saw the doctor two days ago and he's pleased with my progress." Vila swung his chair and gazed into the house. "Tarrant, well, he's maybe starting to open up. I'm not sure. He's a bit bored. If you could..." "I've been trying to get Blake to spare a flyer. It would give both of you more freedom." "That's a great idea. I wish I had thought of it. On the ship, when he was piloting, he seemed almost normal." Vila swirled the chair around again, to face Avon. "I'm glad he's here. I think we're good for each other. He feels sorry for me. I feel sorry for him. It spares us both a lot of self pity." * * * //Not again!// Vila thought as a sharp cry pierced his pleasant dream. He groaned and rolled over, resenting the nocturnal disturbance. Tarrant's violent nightmares woke him two to three times a week, regular as clockwork, ever since the pilot had arrived on Horizon. Lately, Vila had tried to ignore them. He'd bury his head in his pillow to muffle the sound and return to sleep. But tonight he was more than a little annoyed. To have his very intimate dream fantasy interrupted, when he didn't have any other outlet for his sexual frustrations, didn't bode well for his young housemate. Vila almost tumbled to the floor in his haste to slide into his wheelchair. "Damn you, Tarrant," he cursed breathlessly while wriggling his body upright in the leather seat. He barreled out of his room and clattered down the hall, not trying to conceal his mad dash in the least. "When I get my hands on that scrawny neck...I'll, I'll..." He spun into a tight right turn and speeded into the open door of Tarrant's bed chamber. The room was bathed in the soft light from a small lamp. Tarrant never slept in the dark these days. The pilot was thrashing about on the bed, still gripped in his nightmare. "N-no. Yreyhing. Shmeem. Nimymo-er. Bishbishbish." Tarrant's lips were frantically twisting about words that were coming out in an unintelligible garble. "Eevmeoh." On the last syllable, his voice cracked and Vila could take no more. "Wake up." He pummeled Tarrant's shoulder, attempting to rouse him. Tarrant fought back, his arm lashing out in the direction of Vila's face. Vila ducked in the nick of time and prudently retreated to a safe distance. "Wake up, you sorry excuse for a curly-headed mammal. WAKE U-U-UP!" In the midst of Vila's loud yodel, Tarrant stiffened then went limp. His eyes opened, revealing a pool of tears. "Nonononono," he moaned in soft desolation, apparently unaware of Vila's presence. "It was only a dream," Vila said quietly, backing still further away in case Tarrant resented the intrusion on his privacy. But the young man's voice was emotionless when he whispered, "Vila?" His hands rushed to his face, brushing the moisture away. "Who else?" Vila asked, coasting over to the bed. "Who else do you wake up night after night after night?" "I'm sorry." "You should be. I was having this wonderful dream and...and..." To his horror, Vila felt tears welling in his own eyes. "Damn you, Tarrant, the least you could do is let me have my dreams." "You're crying." Tarrant's hand reached out and smoothed across the damp trail on Vila's cheek. He gulped back his own sobs and asked, "What were you dreaming about, Vila?" "Something more pleasurable than you were." Tarrant chuckled bleakly. "That wouldn't be hard." He sat up and stretched, the lean muscles in his arms rippling in the warm glow from the lamp. "You're not going to tell me then?" he queried in a voice that was close to normal. "You don't tell me your dreams, except that once. Was it the same one? What did they do to you, Tarrant, in that deprivation thing?" "Scared me senseless then played with my mind. Very professionally of course. The psychostrategist who designed the program is one of the best. All of the lies that I so wanted to believe. That was the worst. I wanted to believe them. I was such a cooperative subject. They probably didn't even need the chamber." His head drooped, his composure slipping, as he continued, "Do you think she knew that? Were my hours in that tortured void simply some added bonus, devised to nourish her sadistic streak?" "Who? Who are you talking about?" "No one." Tarrant pushed his sorrow back, replaced it with a smile. "There, I've shared part of my dream. Now tell me about yours." "All right," Vila said, deciding openness on his part might encourage further disclosures from Tarrant. "I was dreaming that Dayna and Soolin were ravaging me. Their hands and their mouths were all over my body. And mine were all over theirs." Vila sighed. "Soolin's thighs. They're marvelous, generous, smooth. And Dayna's breasts, twin firm peaks. But when you take them in your mouth, they are as soft and sweet as cotton candy." "That's quite an imagination you have. Or are there things you haven't been telling me?" "Oh, there are things all right," Vila said gruffly, upset by Tarrant's frivolous teasing when he had intended to be taken seriously. "Do you know how long it's been since I had sex? Do you know how fucking long it's been since I fucked? How long since I could even practice self gratification?" Tarrant shook his head, his eyes betraying confusion as he recognized an agitation that he hadn't expected in Vila's voice. "Since before bloody Gauda Prime, Del Tarrant. Since before then." "Join the club," Tarrant said softly. "But...but...huh...haven't you even?" Vila curled his hand around an imaginary object and slithered it up and down. "No. At the lab, the drugs they were giving me apparently inhibited any sexual desires. Since then I simply haven't been interested." "More fool, you." Vila twirled his chair, preparing to leave. Everything was getting way out of hand. He hadn't intended to make Tarrant privy to his distressed longings. In a way, he could understand the younger man's reluctance to bare his soul. It was hard to reveal one's most tortured secrets. He was attempting to jut his chair over the small rise at the threshold when he felt his progress impeded. He turned to see Tarrant grasping the handles of his wheelchair, preventing it from moving. "I don't understand," the pilot said. "You've recovered feeling in your legs. You can even walk on them for short distances now. And you seem to have full control over your eliminations. Why can't you...well, you know?" "I'm not sure. The doctors aren't sure. Do you mind?" Vila rocked his chair. "I don't think I want to talk about it anymore." "I don't mind but, Vila..." Tarrant pulled the chair back beside his bed. "What are you doing?" Vila demanded. Tarrant released his hold on Vila's wheelchair and crawled under his covers. "Would you like to share my bed for the rest of the night? I don't mean anything passionate. But maybe we could both use a little closeness. I think I could." "Share your bed?" //Tarrant!// Del Tarrant, young bully extraordinaire, wanting to be cuddled up next to the likes of professed Delta coward Vila Restal. Space Captain Tarrant admitting to a vulnerability. Vila wondered if he was still dreaming. All right, they'd grown into some type of friendship during their rebel days. And their mutual miseries had enhanced that sense of camaraderie. But to share a bed with someone who was emotionally a complete stranger? "Vila?" Tarrant looked perfectly composed, if a trifle impatient, as if he didn't care whether Vila acquiesced or refused as long as he made a decision quickly. But behind that emotionless facade, Vila sensed that a rejection might hurt Tarrant. Vila swiveled his chair to where he could lean on the bed for support as he eased to his feet. "I'm coming," he said. "I'm coming." * * * Tarrant adjusted his arms slightly, drawing Vila closer. It was very nice having a warm body nestled in his embrace. Even one as stiff as Vila's. Well, stiff every place but where it counted. "Is everything all right?" he asked. "You aren't relaxing." "I'm still getting used to being in your bed," Vila said, wriggling nervously. "I never expected this of you." "It's not something I do every day or with anyone who happens along. Actually, I've never done it before, but I like it. It's rather nice, sharing a bed without the pressure of some grand sexual performance." "I suppose." Vila's voice was morose. "It might be different if I wanted to but couldn't...like you. But I don't even want to anymore." "You're young to take up celibacy." Tarrant didn't want to dwell on himself or the reason behind his emotional depletion. He stroked his hand across Vila's hair. "I think it will come back for you, Vila, in time. Your body has suffered a severe and abiding trauma." He chuckled lightly. "And it isn't as if you've been exposed to many potential sexual partners lately. Dreaming about Dayna and Soolin is one thing, but can you actually picture yourself in bed with one of them?" Vila laughed at the thought, his body relaxing perceptibly. "It would be quite...uh...strenuous and challenging. Those are ladies who like to be in charge. I don't envy Grant, I can tell you that." "Exactly," Tarrant said, happy that he'd lightened Vila's mood. "As soon as you find some soft, shapely, pliant little thing, you'll perk up in no time. Perk up..." Tarrant repeated. "I hope so," Vila said drowsily, missing the pun. He snuggled his face into Tarrant's neck. "I hope so." * * * In Vila's opinion, Blake often took his rebellion too seriously. It was easier to see that now, as an outsider looking in. "You know, if you don't take a break occasionally," he warned, looking to where the larger man was hunched over his computer terminal, "you're going to pop a blood vessel and spare the Federation a lot of grief." "Indeed," Blake murmured, distractedly, as if he hadn't heard Vila's actual words and was replying with polite vagary to a voice that was apparently directed his way. "Indeed." Vila returned his attention to the box in front of him, then shook his head. He'd been trying to jimmy the lock since early morning. He needed a diversion whether Blake did or not. "I'm going to get something to eat," he announced, releasing the catch that held the hoverchair in a fixed position. "Eat, ah yes." Blake stored what he was working on and shut down his computer. "You're coming with me?" Blake smiled. "Even revolutionaries need occasional sustenance." "I guess..." "Besides," Blake pushed to his feet, rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out, "we don't get to spend much time together. How are you coming with the lock?" "It's definitely an entirely new mechanism," Vila reported, heading for the door. "I'm not surprised your people couldn't open it. Based on what I haven't accomplished today, I can tell you that it could take me up to two more days. Maybe I should take it home with me. Work on it there." "I'm not sure about that. We have no idea what's inside. Possibly something quite valuable. I don't like having it off the base." "Or near Tarrant." Vila said, sliding into the almost ever present line at the base cafeteria. "Blake, let's take our food back to your office. I'd like to talk to you, in private." "What did you want to talk about?" Blake asked later, spreading a napkin over his lap. "About Tarrant. He's climbing the walls with nothing to do. And I know you could use him. You're wasting some pretty valuable assets, not taking advantage of his skills. He almost had a teleport worked out all on his own." "I wish he wasn't quite so precocious," Blake said. "Eventually, the Federation scientists are going to complete the teleport. Orac is sure of that. Tarrant gave them all of the basics." He shrugged, not wanting to dwell on that grim inevitability. "I'll admit that even Avon was impressed, that Tarrant could take it so far without Orac." "Del Tarrant was never stupid. Impetuous, headstrong, insolent, egotistical, but never stupid. He told me how he came by all that knowledge. The silly sod spent his night watches studying. He'd work with Zen and Orac, then Dorian's files as well. Also, the Federation had what was left of Scorpio. That gave him an advantage." "I should have planted charges in your ship," Blake admitted. "I was hoping to salvage it for the rebellion." "You can't dwell on the past, but you can think of now. You need good pilots, and Tarrant's one of the best. Ask Avon if you don't believe me." "Vila, it's Tarrant that you should be trying to persuade. If he'd agree to my security procedures, he could be flying one of my starships as early as next week." "I know." Vila twirled his fork through a mound of pasta. "I think his reluctance has something to do with Servalan." "Servalan?" Blake's interest perked. Servalan was still masquerading as Commissioner Sleer and slowly climbing her way back to power. "Did anyone ever tell you about Virn?" "Virn." Blake rolled the word around on his tongue. "Virn...Virn... Oh yes, the place with the preservative in the sand. We've decided there's no way to utilize that." "Tarrant said the same. He and Servalan were trapped together on Virn. The sand intended to use them for breeding purposes." "Oh?" Blake's eyes rose to meet Vila's. "No one told me that." "There was no need before. But I think Servalan is why Tarrant won't agree to a debriefing. I think she was involved in his conditioning, and he's embarrassed about that. I imagine his feelings for her are pretty ambiguous...after Virn." "That might explain his reluctance, but it doesn't excuse it. I can't take the risk of having him here. There's too much at stake." "I was afraid you'd say that," Vila said glumly. "Understand my position. Tarrant isn't your average rebel recruit. He's a former Space Command officer and a member of a very influential family. You know that the relatives of military deserters are usually executed?" Vila nodded. "Tarrant's family was exempted from that punishment, because of the power they wield, collectively and as individuals. You'll find Tarrants in important positions throughout the Federation regime." "And you have a personal grudge against one of them," Vila noted. "Yes. Dev Tarrant." For a minute, Blake's eyes grew dark and foreboding. Vila sensed the rebel leader was contemplating revenge should he ever get his hands on the man who had betrayed his friends. "It's not only Dev," Blake said, shaking himself out of his musings. "It's all of them. Tarrant's mother is..." A beeping on his communicator distracted him. "Excuse me." He listened intently for several minutes, then said into the transmitter, "Just a second, I have someone here." He glanced apologetically at Vila. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to allow me some privacy." "No problem." Vila settled his tray on his lap and prepared to leave. "Why don't you send that box to my quarters? It would probably be better for both of us if I worked on it elsewhere. We distract each other." * * * Tarrant was waiting in the yard when the flyer touched down. He lifted Vila from the passenger seat and deposited him in his wheelchair. "You were gone longer than I expected," he said, pushing Vila clear so that the flyer could take off. "That lock proved to be a challenge." Vila waved farewell to his pilot. "But I was up to it." "How are the others?" Tarrant asked, anxious for news and conversation after his four days of isolation. "Avon, Soolin, and Dayna weren't there." "You didn't get any therapy then. We better take care of that right away." "No-o-o," Vila wailed. "I didn't miss that, the slapping and wrenching and agony." "That are all working," Tarrant countered without sympathy. Besides, he could tell that Vila was only feigning distress, part of his effort to maintain his whiny image. Vila continued to fuss as Tarrant settled him on the padded table and began working at his muscles. He started with a light massage, then moved on to the exercises designed to restore Vila's leg strength and mobility. As he bent and flexed the right leg, Tarrant noticed that Vila had finally grown silent. He was lying contentedly, eyes closed and his lips curled in a small smile. Tarrant grinned happily. He had missed the other man more than he would have thought possible. It wasn't only that Vila's therapy was the single, current purpose in his life, but the distraction of Vila's babbling, games, and cooking projects kept the murky shadows at bay. "Did you find any blackjack partners on the base?" Tarrant asked. "Uh-uh. Didn't have time. Wish I had. I could have come back a rich man. What did you do while I was gone?" "Nothing much. I looked through that seed catalogue." Vila's eyes opened, his head tilting up. "I'm glad you reminded me about that. We have to send in our order. I intend to have a large garden this summer, vegetables and flowers." Vila's face grew puckish, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he finished, "Now that I have someone to do the work." "So I'm your intelligent menial. That must be a first." "I'm teasing." Tarrant thumped Vila's arm. "I know that. I think having a garden is a good idea. I like to keep busy." Vila's expression sobered. "I talked to Blake about you." "Turn over," Tarrant instructed, glad to have the excuse to avoid Vila's pity-filled eyes. "I appreciate your effort, but we both know that Blake is doing the right thing, not trusting me." "That's what he said. He said I should be working on convincing you to allow the security check." "I can't." "Look, Tarrant, I...I..." Vila sounded a tad wary. "I told Blake about Servalan. It's silly, allowing that little affair to stand between you and the adventurous life that you crave." "Servalan?" Tarrant didn't understand. "What has she to do with anything?" "She's why you won't talk about your conditioning," Vila said. "I figured it out. You're embarrassed because you slept with her and probably still had feelings for her, and that's why you called yourself a //cooperative subject//. And it's probably why you aren't interested in sex. She manipulated you again." "You're done." Tarrant backed from the table and grabbed a towel to wipe the massage cream from his hands. Vila twisted about and sat up, a frown creasing his face. "You won't talk about it? Not even knowing I already know?" "It's much more complicated than you realize," Tarrant said, skirting the issue so as neither to affirm nor deny Vila's suspicions. "Stupid, prideful Alphas," Vila muttered. "All right, Tarrant, stay here and be my //intelligent menial//. See if I care. You'd probably just go off and get yourself killed if you were working for Blake anyway. I should be glad that you're here where it's safe." * * * Summer was radiantly obvious in the long days and the steady beating of the sun on the earth. A lush wildness of vegetation had sprung up in the area surrounding Vila's cottage. In the midst of the untamed greenery was one cultivated plot, the garden where Tarrant now toiled. Vila supervised from a comfortable recliner on the patio, an iced fruit drink within easy reach. In contrast with Tarrant's head to toe outfit that included a large brimmed hat to protect his face, Vila was scantly clad in a pair of shorts, soaking up the rays that beamed down on them. Watching his housemate hack at a large weed, Vila smiled lazily. Tarrant had thrived under the burden of daily manual labor, gardening as well as his other project. Avon had finally coaxed a small, antiquated flyer out of Blake. It needed some attention, which Tarrant happily provided. He hoped to have it ready for short hops in a couple of weeks. By the end of summer, they'd have an abundance of fresh produce and a working transport. They could flit off on regular excursions to nearby spots of interest. Spots of interest such as the casino in the capital, where Vila expected to enjoy some very profitable entertainment. If they were both here then... Vila's legs were progressing at a slow, steady pace. He was using the wheelchair less and less as his muscles strengthened and his balance steadied. In a month or two, he might be fully involved with the rebellion. Tarrant might be as well. He slept more soundly, the terrible nightmares only evident on rare occasions. With the pilot's stress levels falling, Vila thought it might be time to badger him into undergoing debriefing. Not that Vila wouldn't have preferred living here, tending a garden in peace. He wasn't all that anxious to return to a life of danger. But he owed Blake, who had so generously supported him, including monstrous medical bills, during his long convalescence. Vila resolutely set future concerns aside so that he could best savor the tranquility of the summer day. He closed his eyes, lulled by the warmth and the steady //chop-chop// of Tarrant's hoe, and fell asleep. He woke sometime later to find Tarrant perched on the railing, grinning at him. The pilot looked incredibly young with the smattering of freckles that now covered his toothy face. Noting the glass in Tarrant's hand, Vila reached for his own beverage and grabbed empty air. "That's my berryfrost you're drinking," he accused. "And not very frosty," Tarrant complained. "You might have kept it chilled for me." "You're big enough to get your own," Vila grumbled good naturedly. He struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the open door. "I guess I'll have to fix myself another since a certain party appropriated mine." Tarrant followed at his heels. "I've had enough sun for the day," he decided. "I'm going to shower." "You better hurry," Vila said, noting the time. "That movie we wanted to see will be on in fifteen minutes. I'll set out those munchies I made earlier." With the two of them flopped companionably side by side on the sofa, legs propped on a table that was also replete with refreshments, Vila thought the only things missing in his life were Avon, Soolin, Dayna, and sex. The gorgeous actress on the screen was a poignant reminder of the last item on his list. If not even her voluptuous figure could stir his body into action, he might have to resign himself to a life of continence. Stealing a glance at Tarrant, Vila wondered if the younger man's natural urges had ever returned. They hadn't talked about it again, after that one night when they'd also shared Tarrant's bed. The fondling had been nice. While not making up for the other, it had offered some very tender moments. But Tarrant had never suggested repeating the experience and Vila didn't think it was his place to make an overture. Abruptly, the leggy blond disappeared from the screen to be replaced by the Newsbrief Logo. "What!" Vila shouted his disappointment. "We were just going to find out who the murderer was." "Maybe they'll show us the end after their announcement," Tarrant said, not sounding hopeful. "I wonder what startling development couldn't wait until the regularly scheduled vidnews." An officious face filled the screen. "The Federation Space Systems Research Center announced completion of its teleport project early today. We take you now to a taped... Vila's head jerked to his right, anxious to see how Tarrant was reacting to the news. The pilot's freckles stood out prominently against skin drained of blood. "...announcement made by the project's director, Academician Brya Tarrant." For half a minute, Tarrant stared hard at the monitor, then he cupped a hand to his mouth and dashed from the room. "Tarrant," Vila called as his eyes strayed back to the screen. "...the effort of many dedicated workers, we are pleased to..." Vila muted the sound, studying the woman now gracing the screen. It was impossible to guess her age. Her short-cropped hair was silver, but her face unlined. Piercing blue eyes, as cold as a winter frost, dominated her features. From the bathroom down the hall came the sound of vomiting. Vila stood, torn, his hands fingering the vidscreen controls The woman, Brya Tarrant, was gone, replaced by the original newscaster. Vila's nervous fingers accidentally flicked the sound back on. "...speculate a Vandu Prize nomination would not be out of the question. Academician Tarrant's previous honors include the prestigious H. M. Bently Award for her work in the field of psychotherapy, two separate Fredonia grants..." //Psychotherapy...// Tarrant reappeared, his eyes devoid of life, moving at a steady clip. He brushed between Vila and the vidscreen as if neither existed. "Where are you going?" Vila asked when Tarrant started out the patio door. "Where are you going?" Vila turned back to the screen. To his consternation, the movie had returned. He wasn't going to learn anything more from that source. What had Tarrant said that long-ago night? Desperately, Vila searched his memory. Something about the psychostrategist who had worked him over had been one of the best. Mention of a woman with a sadistic streak. //What if that woman hadn't been Servalan? Had been some relative of Tarrant's?// A grating sounded briefly from the yard. The flyer drive. But it wasn't near repaired. Moving as quickly as his still tottery legs would allow, Vila lurched from the room. He arrived outside to see Tarrant bent over the drive housing, poking at the innards. As Vila gripped the rail and stumbled down the three steps to level ground, Tarrant finished and slammed the cover shut. Vila forced his legs to move faster, reached the flyer and flung open the passenger door as Tarrant triggered the starter. "What are you doing?" the thief shouted above the unnaturally loud noise from the drive unit. Grim faced, Tarrant yelled, "Taking it up for a test flight. Get out of here." Vila hesitated, refusing to be intimidated by Tarrant's sullen scowl. "Get out," the pilot repeated. "In a minute," Vila compromised. "One question." The flyer started to wobble as if Tarrant was going to take off with Vila half in and half out. "Who was that woman?" "My mother!" The flyer lifted from the ground with Vila scrambling into the passenger seat. Something inside of him warned that this was possibly a suicide flight and he had just signed his death warrant. But what else had he been supposed to do? Maybe his presence would force Tarrant to be cautious. Then again, maybe it wouldn't... The flyer banked sharply to the left, barely clearing the trees at the east end of the clearing. Vila fumbled his safety harness across his chest, then gripped the armrests. It rivaled the final moments on Scorpio for the wildest ride in his life. Tarrant put the flyer through maneuvers that Vila was sure it was never designed to perform. In addition to the unhealthy rattling of the drive, the superstructure groaned and squeaked, clearly protesting the rough handling. Tarrant increased their speed and the treetops turned into a blur beneath them. Ahead were the jagged peaks of the Krizanza Range. Vila grimaced. "Tarrant, let's go home," he yelled. "This thing feels like it is going to fall apart around us." "You shouldn't have come." "I know that. Drop me at home," Vila pleaded, "and take it up again yourself." Not that he intended to allow that to happen, not until Tarrant had calmed considerably. "No. Look." Vila squinted his eyes to see what Tarrant was referring to. Ahead, clouds hung over the foothills, pelting them with rain. "No. Over there." Tarrant freed a hand to clutch Vila's chin, turning his face to the left. "See, a rainbow." Yes, hanging at one of the end of the storm was a curved line of color. "I've seen it. Let's go home now." "We can't," Tarrant said, not sounding entirely rational. "We have to find the treasure. You've heard about the treasure at the end of the rainbow." The flyer was moving into the storm now, lurching in its turbulent winds. "Whatever she did, whatever happened, it isn't worth this," Vila said. "Damn it, we're both too young to die." Suddenly, it was as if they were in a lift and the support cables had snapped. The flyer plunged down at a high rate of speed. Vila screamed. Tarrant had both hands on the controls now, fighting them with every ounce of his strength. * * * Vila lay face down in the grass, sobbing softly. Tarrant sat cross-legged next to him. "I'm sorry," he said with genuine regret. "I don't know what came over me. Seeing her, I guess. Finding out she was in charge confirmed her betrayal. I didn't want to hurt you. Never meant to hurt you." "I'm more angry than hurt," Vila rasped out, his hand pressed to the bruised and bleeding lump on his forehead. "You have a right to be. What I did was stupid." Tarrant pushed up onto his knees. "I'll work on the flyer. Get it running again. We'll be home before dark." "And Avon's going to be converted to Blake's idealism." Tarrant felt a tugging at his tunic. "Sit down. That flyer isn't going anywhere ever again." Tarrant stared at the crumpled wreck. "I suppose not." He heaved a sigh. "At least it didn't explode." "No thanks to you." "Yes, well...I'll get you patched up and activate the emergency beacon, and we should still be home before dark." Except the beacon and the entire communication system had been destroyed, as Tarrant discovered when he returned to the flyer for the medkit. He ran a hand through his curls, quietly assessing what they did have: the medkit, field rations and supplies, weapons, flyer parts. More than enough to survive in the wilderness but Vila was not going to be a happy man. Tarrant waited until he'd patched Vila's head wound and wrapped a brace of tape around the man's sprained wrist before sharing his bad news. "So it looks like we're stuck here," he concluded, "until we're missed and someone comes searching." He studied the area where the flyer had settled in a copse of trees, wishing it was more in the open where it could be easily spotted. But they'd hear a search party and could signal it with a flare. The concealed location of the flyer wasn't an insurmountable problem. "That's wonderful," Vila said sourly, the two pain pills still resting in his open palm. "Who's going to miss us, Tarrant?" "Well, Dayna and Soolin...Avon. They'll see the flyer is gone and guess what happened." "They're off planet." "You don't think Blake..." "Only if he needed me for something." "The others will be back eventually. We're not in any danger." Tarrant gestured to the flyer then to the surrounding scenery. "Since it's summer, we won't freeze or starve. I learned enough about survival at the FSA to keep us comfortable and cozy until the others return." He snuck a side-long glance at Vila. The other man was frowning unhappily. Tarrant sighed, saying, "It's not as if there are hairy aliens to worry about." "Humph, you almost qualify as one. Damn it, Tarrant, the garden is going to be overrun with weeds by the time we get back." Tarrant rubbed at eyes that were suddenly awash with tears. Vila's abrupt change of mood had taken him by surprise. Tarrant rather thought he preferred the man's scolding to his emotionally charged forgiveness. "Say, are you crying?" Vila asked. "No. Yes." Tarrant turned his back to Vila, hoping to spare himself further indignity. "You should hate me, you know." "That wouldn't do either of us any good." Vila hesitated then continued, "It's not as if you didn't have a good reason for rushing off and almost getting us killed. I think. Will you tell me about it? You owe me the truth." Put that way, Tarrant could hardly refuse. "You saw it yourself on the vidscreen. Brya Tarrant, my mother, used me to climb another step on the Federation power ladder." "Maybe you don't know everything," Vila suggested. "I'm afraid I know all too much. I was conceived in a petri dish, and it was downhill from there. Deeta tried to tell me but I refused to listen." "Go on." "Go on what? It isn't that unique a story, not in Alpha ranks. The Federation bioengineers are always running computer simulations with the gene pools. They found a match that they wanted to try between my biological parents. Brya agreed as long as she received custody of any resulting children." "As you said, that's not very unique. But she wanted you, didn't she? From what I've heard, most Alpha parents would let the government raise their offspring under similar circumstances." Shaking his head, Tarrant said, "It wasn't that she wanted us. She just didn't want anyone else to have us. We were her possessions. It was Deeta who figured that out. I grew up refusing to accept that Brya was selfish, ambitious, and totally devoid of feeling." He forced a smile to his face as he turned back to Vila. "I wish I had died on Gauda Prime before having my illusion destroyed." Tarrant stood up, paced, and kicked at the grass, remembering and hating. "On Galinum she became what I always wanted her to be: the perfect loving mother. However, it was all a very carefully designed ruse. She never loved me at all, only what she could achieve through me. It was easy for my wonderful mother to convince me to share my technological expertise. She was very proud of what I was accomplishing. I worked so hard trying to please her." "I'm sorry." "So am I," Tarrant sighed, "but it's almost a relief to know the truth. No more fantasies about the treasure at the end of the rainbow. Even after you rescued me, I tried to make excuses for her, but I can't deny her behavior any longer. She lied to me, never told me she had a personal stake in the outcome of my work, never told me she was the project director. Someone else played that role; one more part of her calculated deception. She is very, very good at what she does, Brya is." * * * Vila wouldn't have chosen to be stranded in the wilderness, but now that he was here, he wasn't finding it too terrible. As Tarrant had promised, his survival skills kept them sheltered and well fed. They had a cozy little nest in the gutted flyer, where they could sleep undisturbed by rain or creepy, crawly insects. A nearby natural spring offered plenty of sweet, clear drinking water and a tumbling brook bathing facilities. If Vila hadn't been somewhat handicapped by his still wobbly legs, he might have considered their predicament an unplanned, rather primitive, vacation. "Catch anything?" Tarrant called as he hopped from rock to rock to cross the stream to where Vila lazed in the shade of a large tree. "Not yet." Vila glanced at his exuberant young friend, who definitely didn't have the patience required to be a successful fisherman. "I've collected enough greens for the day." Tarrant held out a delicate looking leaf. "Taste this." "You already have?" Vila asked, not entirely trusting the pilot's ability to separate the edible from the poisonous. "Yes." After slithering the leaf through the rushing water, he took a little bit into his mouth. "Not bad." "That's what I thought." Tarrant settled back, stretching his long body flat against the spongy bank. "There's plenty more of it not far from here. Mixed with that fungus that grows in the rock outcroppings, we'll have a fine salad." "It would be better with dressing," Vila said, picturing a thick, creamy mix of oils and cheeses. "Better still if we had an adrenaline and soma to wash it down with." "Grumble, grumble," Tarrant drawled, his eyes drooping closed. When Vila checked him again, he was sleeping. Tarrant looked a bit silly, dressed in his underwear and boots. With only one set of clothes each, and not knowing when they'd be found, they'd decided to save their outer clothing for the chilly, rainy days. It meant that Tarrant's fair skin was reddening and peeling and freckling, which Vila, to his surprise, found more cute than unattractive. Reaching over, Vila dusted the dead flakings of skin from the bridge of Tarrant's nose. No, it wasn't bad here at all. If one only had... Vila felt a stirring in an area that had long been dormant. Afraid it was his imagination, he almost didn't make a visual check. But a disturbance in his fishing line forced his eyes to focus in that direction anyway. Sure enough, there was a rounding in his shorts. He put a tentative hand to it and almost whooped his relief. Barely resisting an urge to shake Tarrant awake to share his good news, Vila hurriedly reeled in his fish instead, while his thoughts strayed elsewhere. Suddenly the wilderness wasn't that appealing anymore. He wanted to get back to civilization and...and... He tried to picture the most alluring female that ever existed--long legs, silky hair, ample cleavage--but his imagination wouldn't cooperate and his erection softened. Sighing, he consoled himself that what had happened once would happen again. * * * A steady rain splattered against the metal roof of the flyer. Tarrant peeked around the tarpaulin that covered a large hole in one side of the vehicle. "It's really coming down." "We can hear that it is. You didn't have to look outside to know. You let a breeze in." Vila shivered. "I'm cold. Get back here." Tarrant crawled into the makeshift tent that he and Vila were using to stay warm. The two blankets and their closed-in double body heat served to keep the chill at bay. He tentatively curved an arm about Vila. "Do you mind?" "N-no," Vila said over a yawn. He rested his head against Tarrant's shoulder. "Go to sleep, if you'd like. I'm not tired." "Not su-prised... you...slept s'afternoon." "A short nap," Tarrant conceded, grinning. "Sufadeeda..." Vila's voice trailed off to a jumbled slur. Tarrant gently rested Vila back against what served as his mattress, then pulled his own bedding over until it was touching Vila's. It was really too cold to sleep apart. There was a danger of hypothermia if the temperature continued to drop. Alone in the dark, Tarrant couldn't avoid his feelings. He was growing very fond of Vila. It wasn't unexpected. Confronting the truth about Brya had left him with an emotional void. It was only natural that he transfer his affections somewhere...and Vila was the only one available. And a very compassionate source at that. Tarrant remembered having done something similar after Deeta had died. He'd turned to Avon to replace his lost brother, not that Avon had ever realized...he hoped. Eventually, he'd regained his equilibrium and the status quo had returned. That would happen again. Snuggling close to the smaller man, Tarrant smiled contentedly. He and Vila should do this more often. Cuddling was marvelous therapy for what ailed you. * * * "We have to keep up your exercises," Tarrant insisted. "We don't want to lose all of the gains we've made." "I can walk from the flyer to the creek without leaning on you," Vila protested. "I'm well. I just need time to build up strength." "This will build up your strength." Tarrant was standing in a deep pool, with water swirling around the lower half of his naked body. He slapped the surface, sending a spray of moisture Vila's way. "Come on. Get undressed and get in here." "I don't know how to swim." "I'm going to teach you. Swimming is a wonderful exercise, very easy on the body. Dayna would approve." "Dayna's not here," Vila muttered as he reluctantly stripped. "If she were, I might not mind this. Skin to skin with her..." "What are you mumbling about?" "Nothing...nothing..." Vila tiptoed into the water. It was refreshingly cool against his hot skin. As he stepped closer to Tarrant, his foot slipped on an underwater rock. Hands flailing, he felt himself falling. Strong arms caught him before his head slipped beneath the surface, and Vila found himself clutched close to Tarrant's rangy body. He grabbed for support as his feet searched for purchase on the streambed. "Take it easy," Tarrant cautioned, "or we'll both get a dunk." Vila slowed his movements, his hands circling Tarrant and ending up hanging onto the younger man's firm backside. When his feet were resting on a solid surface again, he climbed up Tarrant's body until he was fully upright, leaning slightly on the pilot. "Relax, catch your breath," Tarrant said, keeping a firm hold on Vila's shoulders. "I'm all right," Vila puffed out, meeting Tarrant's concerned blue eyes. Tarrant chuckled. "You must be anxious to try swimming, plunging in before I could even explain anything." "Not that anxious." Vila could feel his heart quieting and his respiration evening out. Past his initial fright, he became more aware of Tarrant's hard, slippery body. Very hard, completely hard, everywhere hard... Resting against his own equally hard cock. Vila was in a quandary. What to do when you find yourself where you shouldn't be but are enjoying being there too much to do something about it? His second erection in as many days. This one even more impressive, throbbing against Tarrant's matching organ. Tarrant appeared not to have noticed, still overly anxious about Vila's near immersion. Vila shifted, trying to ease away while the pilot was distracted. His movements served to do the opposite of their intended purpose. Not entirely surefooted, Vila managed to thump against Tarrant while attempting to extricate himself. Tarrant couldn't help notice having his sensitive groin area whacked. "Uh!" Tarrant's eyes dropped, studying the vague, stiff outlines beneath the water. Vila watched a grin spread across the man's face, exposing tooth after tooth after tooth. "Adrenaline will do that," Tarrant said calmly enough, but not completely masking the hint of elation in his voice. One didn't have to be a mindreader to guess that this was Tarrant's first erection after his long period of impotency. Vila was happy for him. Happy for both of them. But before that happiness mutated to embarrassment, he pinched Tarrant's arm. "What about that swimming lesson you promised?" * * * After the swimming lesson, Tarrant instructed Vila to stretch out on the bank so that he could massage his legs. The water and exercise had relaxed Vila's muscles, making Tarrant's job much easier. "Dayna is going to be more than pleased with your progress," Tarrant predicted. "I'm more than pleased with my progress," Vila murmured, his head resting on his crossed arms. "Could you do my back while you're at it." "I suppose." Tarrant slid his hands up Vila's thighs, hesitating at his buttocks. Vila's sun-rosy cheeks were incredibly inviting, but Tarrant resisted the temptation to touch them, instead lifting his hands over that area and coming to rest on the small of the back. He dug the heels of his hands into the base of the spine, kneading gently. "That feels good," Vila sighed. "All things considered," Tarrant said, as his fingers plied at Vila's shoulders, "you aren't in bad shape for being disabled for so long." Vila opened his left eye to peek at Tarrant. "You aren't in bad shape yourself. I noticed that about you right away. You were skinny but firm." "No surprise there. They wanted me to stay in shape, all the better to work long hours. Before going to the lab, I'd work out in a gym three days a week. The equipment was sophisticated; a twenty minute program kept me fit." Tarrant paused, his hands resting lightly against Vila's flesh. "I was pretty pampered for being a prisoner. My mother to fuss over me and cook. I never had much of an appetite though." "Probably because of the psycholucinogens. That stuff is nasty. We should schedule you for a physical, to make sure you're all right." "Sometime...maybe." Tarrant felt a choking in his throat. She had drugged him, not caring what the chemicals were doing to his body or to his mind. Hot tears welled up and spilled over to drip onto Vila's bare back. Vila twisted around, his eyes wide with concern. "I think we should get back to camp," he said, kindly not calling attention to the tears. "I'm hungry." He sat up and stretched his arms. "If only I weren't so tired. It's a long walk, all uphill." Tarrant gulped down his distress. "I've a solution for that," he said, hefting Vila into his arms and starting up the slope. "Hey! Wait! You'll drop me!" "I won't." "What about our clothes?" "I'll come back for them," Tarrant promised. "Now stop squirming or I will drop you." "I don't think it's fair, you slinging me around, just because you're bigger." "And stronger," Tarrant said, enjoying the banter as a means of working out of his dark mood. "Well, two can play at this game," Vila said. He rested his head against Tarrant's shoulder and began licking along his collarbone. Tarrant felt a warmth creep through his body. "What are you doing?" he barely managed to whisper out. "Payment in kind." Vila's tongue tickled at Tarrant's neck. "While your hands are all tied up, so to speak, you're at my mercy." "Vi-la," Tarrant said, too confused to know why he was saying it. Did he want Vila to stop? Or was he encouraging him to continue? The feathery flutters against his skin were extremely pleasurable. He felt his penis spring to life in response and hurriedly lifted Vila a little higher so that the other man wouldn't notice. //What is happening here?// Tarrant wondered as Vila's explorations excited him further. He hadn't had so much as a twinge until today. Now he felt like a love-starved virgin in the presence of his heart's desire. Tarrant decided he was getting a bit too attached to Vila. It wasn't fair to either of them. It wasn't real, any of it. It was simply a reaction to loss, isolation and camaraderie. It was pity and loneliness that drew them together. Those weren't the types of emotions on which to build a relationship. * * * Snuggled up on his mattress of crumpled drive insulation and pine branches covered with a blanket, Vila couldn't help thinking about sex. About that wild euphoria that surrounded climaxing. At the best of times, it resembled fireworks exploding in his head. It had been so long. With his right hand smoothing along his quiescent penis, he closed his eyes and sent his mind on a quest for a sexual fantasy that would allow him fulfillment. Dancing girls, naked, gyrating, their heavy bosoms swaying in time with the music. Nothing. A slim, lithe beauty, her hair falling over her face that was buried in Vila's abdomen, licking a path toward his groin. Nothing. Dayna and Soolin, their hands smoothing up Vila's legs. Nothing. //Can't force it,// he told himself. //I have to relax and let it come naturally. I'm trying too hard.// He emptied his mind and let it wander at will. A picture gradually formed, something that had happened two days ago. Tarrant. Crouched by the fire, his hands busy and unable to rub an irritating smudge of soot from his cheek. Vila had reached across to wipe it away and received a blinding smile of thanks from the pilot for his effort. There was a slight swelling. Wonderful. Now where was that lush contortionist from the pleasure palace on Anobi? Her long hair had twined seductively about her Amazon-like figure. //Damn! It isn't working.// What he needed, Vila decided, was some extra stimulation. What if he woke Tarrant and they swapped stories, jacking off while regaling each other with tales of past sexual prowess. It was an amusement that he had often shared with his young, fellow offenders during his first incarceration. That was before he had been exposed to adult prisons, where sex was violent and often terrifying. Vila quickly shed those memories. Anyway, Tarrant was an Alpha. Alphas were pretty private when it came to their sex lives. He rolled over, facing Tarrant. The man's aristocratic profile served to confirm Vila's initial appraisal. This wasn't a Delta who would enjoy amusing a mate with stories of carnal adventures. Slightly frustrated, Vila clutched his makeshift pillow with both hands and resolved to forego further efforts at stimulation. He watched Tarrant's slowly rising and falling chest with some envy, wishing he could be lost in dreamland as well. Tarrant exhaled a breath through his mouth, causing his bottom lip to tremble slightly. Such a pouty lip, Vila observed even as he felt that familiar glow pulsing through his middle again. Shocked, Vila rolled onto his back and stared at the roof of the flyer. All of his erections had one common denominator--Del be damned Tarrant! //Come on, Vila my man,// he scolded himself. //Homosex is all very well and good when nothing else is available, however...// Of course nothing else was available. But Vila had a sneaky suspicion that even if the most appealing woman in the history of civilization had appeared before him that his eyes would still have strayed to the lanky form next to him. How had that incredible eccentricity happened? * * * Tarrant set the tube of depilatory aside and studied his reflection in the mirror. The constant exposure to ultraviolet rays had left him looking a bit like an overripe wazzlefruit. Blond tufts highlighted his unruly mass of curls and his skin was a mottle of various shades of scarlet. Not even his mother would be likely to recognize him, given his ghastly camouflage. //Mother!// Bad choice of words that strangely brought no pain. Perhaps he had finally purged her ability to hurt him. If that was true, he should be ready to explain his conditioning. It was still going to be humiliating, revealing his pathetic family intrigues to Blake or his appointed interrogator, but Tarrant thought he could face up to that now. And whatever mind altering drugs would be necessary to pass a security check. "You're not that handsome," Vila said, apparently having noticed his prolonged sojourn in front of the mirror. "You can say that again, unless one has a fondness for well- done meat," Tarrant touched the crusted skin on his forehead then moved to a raw, peeling area on his right cheek, "mixed with rare." "Well, you won't have to bake much longer." "Why is that?" "It's been two and a half weeks. Unless there was a delay, our rescuers are due home any day now. We are about to be missed...I hope." "Too bad, I almost had you turned into a competent swimmer and woodsman." Though he had been joking, Tarrant was surprised to sense real regret washing through him. No doubt due to Vila's resilient constitution. For someone dome raised, the man had been incredibly tolerant of their plight. It had almost been... No, it *had* been fun. He walked over to where Vila was preparing his fishing lines. "Thank you," Tarrant said. "I haven't caught anything yet. Wait until we have something succulent sizzling on a spit." "That's not what I meant. Thank you for being such a good sport. If it had been any of the others in that flyer with me..." Vila tilted his head up, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What do you think they would have done?" "They wouldn't have been as charitable, I can guarantee that, especially considering that my idiocy was fueled by self pity. Crashing a flyer, then all of that ranting about her..." Tarrant settled in the grass in front of the rock that Vila was using as a chair, imagining the various reactions should his companion have been other than the plucky thief. "Avon would have found it terribly amusing," he said, "that I could ever have been so stupid as to think Brya cared. Soolin would have declared it all incredibly boring and walked off, hoping never to see me again." "I might have done that," Vila said, "if my legs had been in better shape." "No, you would at least have allowed me to walk with you...as protection if for no other reason." "And Dayna?" Vila prodded. "Dayna...ah, Dayna. We'd have never gotten to my sad life history. As soon as she realized that we were on the ground and both alive, she'd have killed me." Vila laughed appreciatively. "Then you're lucky it was me." "Very!" Tarrant rested back on his elbows, studying the older man. He might delay joining the rebellion until Vila was fit enough to do likewise. He'd miss the man's company, as close as they'd become. Yes, he'd definitely wait. * * * Moonlight blanketed the meadow, dancing off the white petals of the local flora. Tarrant put a finger to his lips, warning Vila to be absolutely quiet. His other arm stretched out, pointing. Vila's breath caught in his throat. The most beautiful creature that he'd ever seen was stepping tentatively into the abundance of flowers, bending its long graceful neck to nibble at the delicate petals. A second animal glided forward and nuzzled against the first. Squinting, Vila could see two smaller figures finally emerge from the shadows, miniatures of their parents. He and Tarrant watched until the quartet, appetites satisfied, trotted back into the woods. "When I saw them last night, I didn't think such beauty could be real," Tarrant said, his voice hushed with awe. "I wanted you to see them to be sure I wasn't hallucinating." Impulsively, Vila squeezed Tarrant's hand. "Thanks for sharing that with me." Tarrant's fingers twitched in Vila's grip. "Sorry," Vila said, moving to release the young man's hand, deciding that the pilot was uncomfortable with the intimacy. But Tarrant's other hand covered his, preventing that. Vila tilted his head to meet the taller man's eyes and was jolted by what he found there. "What is it?" he asked hoarsely, not daring to believe the passion that he thought he saw. "Nothing...nothing..." Tarrant pulled away, turning his back to Vila. "It's been a long time since I've been so happy and relaxed." His bare shoulders shrugged. "I'm letting my imagination get carried away." Vila felt a tightening in his chest. He only had to reach out a short distance and he could run his fingers down Tarrant's exposed spine. Gathering courage, he did just that. Tarrant stiffened, briefly. "Vila, you don't have to. I know you aren't attracted to men." "I didn't know you were," Vila whispered. He rested his hands on Tarrants shoulder blades, causing the pilot to shudder. "I've only seen you rubbery kneed over women." "Then you haven't been looking lately." "Didn't think you could be interested in me." "I know it's silly." Tarrant tried to laugh but it came out more like a whimper. "I mean, I knew I liked you, but it wasn't until we came here that you started to look...desirable. Too much fresh air, I guess." "Or too much sun." "I've tried to keep it to myself. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry," he shook his head, "this is probably making you uncomfortable." "It is," Vila said, thinking of his straining erection, the tight skin constricting his balls. Sliding his hands up to Tarrant's shoulders, he pulled himself onto his tiptoes and pressed his hardness into Tarrant's backside. "Why don't you do something about it?" What happened next was a marvelous example of the whip-quick reflexes that made Tarrant a superb pilot. Before Vila had a chance to realize what was happening, the younger man had whirled around and crushed him in a tight embrace. Vila barely had time to open his mouth before a tongue was snaking between his teeth. Breathless, surprised, still in a state of half shock, Vila felt giddy and lightheaded. He jerked his lips free, begging, "Slow down or I'll pass out before we get anywhere." Tarrant laughed and tumbled them both onto the fragrant carpet of grass and flowers. His hands were darting over Vila's body as if there wasn't enough time in the world to complete the explorations that he had in mind. "You're not quite as beautiful as those animals," Tarrant said with a wink, "but you'll do. He planted a short kiss on the tip of Vila's nose. Then his lips drifted down over Vila's neck and along his left shoulder. Shocky little mixes of heat and cold erupted on contact. "You'll do as well," Vila croaked out, surprised that he could manage a coherent statement. The pleasurable sensations igniting his body were so distracting that he could hardly remember where he was. A wetness that could only be Tarrant's tongue tickled into Vila's navel, while long-fingered hands continued their frantic fondling. Moist breath tingled against Vila's belly as Tarrant spoke, "I wasn't the least interested in sex for so long. I thought I was impotent, until last week during your first swimming lesson." "I suspected that," Vila said, "but I had no idea I was the object of your desire or we'd have been doing this much sooner." "Vila," Tarrant pulled back, bemused, "I just remembered. You...you were the same...but..." He rubbed his hand appreciatively along the length of Vila's shaft. "You aren't anymore." Vila grinned. "I think we cured each other." "How fortuitous," Tarrant said, just before he buried his face in Vila's groin. Vila hadn't been treated to such enthusiastic fellatio since that old whore back on Earth, and he'd been paying for it that time. Tarrant sucked him in, released him, then repeated the procedure more forcefully. While Tarrant's mouth devoured him, his tongue played its own mischievous tune, tickling against the sensitive skin and thrusting its tip into the little aperture at the head of Vila's penis. After such a long period of abstinence, it was impossible to delay climax. Vila shuddered and exploded, shooting come into Tarrant's mouth. His hand resting on the back of Tarrant's neck sensed the convulsions of the man's throat as he gulped down Vila's seed. It heightened Vila's pleasures. He trembled as semen gushed from his body in what felt like a never-ending stream. Vila grayed out, the blood rushing to his groin and the explosive organism had drained most of his energy. When he regained his senses, it was over. Tarrant's head was resting on his belly; the young man's respiration was shallow and quick, as if he had climaxed as well. Though limp, dizzy and weak, Vila sent his hand patting out over the ground and found the proof of Tarrant's satisfaction in a wet patch on the grass. He brought a moist finger back to his mouth, tasted the salty fluid, and started to shake with dry tears. "What's the matter?" Tarrant crawled up and covered Vila's body with his own, smothering him in a series of kisses. Vila didn't even try to vocalize an answer, afraid that his emotions would spill over and embarrass both of them, Instead, he embraced his lover, patting his curls, his back, letting his hands tell of his satisfaction, his delight, his bliss. "Oh, yes. Me too," Tarrant sighed. His breath was warm against Vila's neck. "Me too." * * * "What if we hadn't gone out into the meadow last night?" Vila asked the next morning, resting in Tarrant's arms after a second deliriously joyful bout of love making. "Something would have happened eventually." Tarrant propped up on one elbow and traced a finger along Vila's ribs. "It was all I could do not to ravage you yesterday morning...after our swim." "When you tried to drown me," Vila remembered. "I threw you into the deep water because I was frustrated. Holding you close so you wouldn't sink. My hands forced into contact with your soft skin. You're lucky, I'm a gentleman." "I'm lucky you're not," Vila corrected. "A gentleman wouldn't have stuck his cock up..." Tarrant darted his finger to Vila's lips. "Let's not get crude," he teased. "And don't forget, you promised to reciprocate the favor...tonight." "Are you sure you're an Alpha?" Vila asked. "I never expected the high and mighty to want such base treatment." "You're confusing me with Avon," Tarrant said. He sat up and stretched. "He's the aesthetic." He rolled his eyes and grinned, "I'm the randy type." "Yeah," Vila confirmed, well pleased. "You are." "Then rise and shine." Tarrant tugged at Vila's hand and pulled them both to their feet. "We need to feed our taxed bodies," he said with a grin, "so we'll have energy for tonight." "Or this afternoon," Vila amended. Tarrant's eyes brightened. "That's one of your better ideas." He hopped agilely to the ground then reached up to lift Vila down, to spare his legs the excess jarring. Vila welcomed Tarrant's arms around him, his touch so much more intimate than when they had done this every previous morning since the crash. And Tarrant was much slower to release him, pecking a kiss to his cheek first. "I was afraid of getting involved with you," Tarrant said, holding Vila at arm's length. "I don't understand." "When I first realized my feelings, I thought it was simply convenience and circumstance rather than anything more meaningful." "And now?" Tarrant blushed and studied the ground. "It's more meaningful." Vila hadn't intended to drag that confession from Tarrant. Things were getting a bit too serious. He put his hands on the taller man's shoulders and lectured, "That's good, because I'm not one of those spaceport tramps who are satisfied with one- night affairs. Nope, I have standards. Nothing less than two nights or I sulk." Tarrant tossed his head, sending his curls flying in all directions, and laughed. "I hope you'll be taking pleasure from me for longer than two nights." His blue eyes twinkled with impish humor as he stroked his hand over Vila's cheek. "Though I've no doubt that you'll eventually throw me over. I've been told I can be quite aggravating on a long-term basis." "Or even for a short term. I don't know how I've put up with you for this long." * * * Lounging at his favorite fishing spot, Vila wasn't surprised to see Tarrant loping down the hill in his direction. "Did you finish your chores already?" The younger man snapped a smart salute, "Every one of them, sir." He plopped on the stream bank. "You were quick." "I was motivated." Plucking a blade of grass, Tarrant began to run it along Vila's bare forearm. "Do you really think Avon and the women are due back at Blake's base soon?" "Yes. I expect they'll be along to collect us any day now." "That's too bad. I've been planning a list of all the spots I'd like to make love to you. I've put considerable effort into the task. Pity it will be wasted." "You don't mind if I'd prefer a bed." Vila reached around and massaged his lower back. "There's something to be said for beds. Real mattresses and pillows." Rolling over, Tarrant settled his curly head in Vila's lap and smiled up at him. "This isn't a bad pillow," he noted, rubbing his cheek against Vila's shaft. "You know, we could possibly work through my list in a week, if we put our minds to it." "I haven't caught any fish yet." "We wouldn't even have to pull your lines in. This...," Tarrant's hand began to creep down the length of Vila's leg, "...location would be perfect for...," stroked his ankle and calf, "...what I have in mind," and crawled back up to rest on a quivering thigh. "The bank is almost as soft as a mattress." Turning onto his side, Tarrant ran his fingers along the elastic waist band of Vila's drawers. "I wonder what I'll find inside here?" One hand groped deeper. Vila was quickly becoming convinced that Tarrant's idea deserved consideration when his eyes caught movement at the top of the woodsy slope. "Tar-rant! Tarrant, there's something up there." Responding to the alarm in Vila's voice, Tarrant sprang to his feet, his eyes scanning the hillside. "I don't see anything. What do you think you saw?" "I didn't get a good look. But it was big. A person or a large animal." "You told me there weren't any large animals on this planet. Somebody looking for us?" "But is it a friendly somebody or someone we'd rather not meet?" Tarrant relaxed, his hands dropping to his sides. "You also told me this planet was safe, not part of the Federation and that it had a very low crime rate. If anyone is here, it's people we know or friendly natives." "Maybe," Vila pushed to his feet, "but what caught my eye was something glittering in the sun. Something that looked like a Federation trooper helmet." "It's your imagination," Tarrant reasoned, but he didn't sound sure. "Wait here. I'll investigate." Vila crept behind a large tree and watched Tarrant make his way up the slope, sticking to cover whenever it was available. He was moving cautiously but at a steady pace and soon disappeared over the crest of the hill. Alone, Vila fretted over what was happening out of range of his sight and without any sounds to offer clues. Tarrant had been grabbed and was being tortured to reveal Vila's location. Or, possibly, he was simply doing a thorough canvass of the area before giving the all clear. Or...or... What was taking him so long? Vila counted to a hundred then counted to one hundred again. Then he started for their camp, each step reluctant and slow on the rough terrain. The climb took half of a lifetime. By the time he reached the top, his heart was beating frantically, both from exertion and fright. Hiding in the tree line, he peered out over the meadow where he and Tarrant had made love the night before. There was nothing disturbing its tranquil beauty. Across the expanse, at an angle, was their camp, centered around the downed flyer. Though it was difficult to see the camp clearly, because of the mix of sun rays and tree shadows, Vila was sure he would have detected movement, had there been any. Convincing himself that there was nothing dangerous on Horizon, Vila gulped down his fright and started across the grass. Halfway to his destination, five figures silently stepped into view, disturbing the peaceful panorama with the guns they had pointed his way. Sun glinted off their combat helmets. The troopers closed in on him, clipped a bracelet to his arm, and ordered, "Teleport." * * * They were a very professional group, Tarrant decided ruefully. He'd been strip searched and scanned, then given standard prison garb. Four assault rifles had been trained his way during the humiliating procedure. As soon as he had slipped into the thin jumpsuit, the section leader ordered, "Cuff him." The troopers weren't gentle, wrenching his arms behind his back and snapping thick manacles to his wrists. One of them prodded him in the ribs with his gun for good measure. The section leader nodded his approval. "This way." Tarrant identified the ship as a class four battle cruiser, as he was marched through its narrow corridors to the area he knew to house executive offices. Hands grabbed him and tossed him into the first cabin on the right before he'd even been given a chance to point himself in that direction. Stumbling off balance, it was a minute before he righted himself and realized that his guards had remained outside. However, he wasn't alone. "Hello, Brya." She was as beautiful as ever, sitting regally behind a desk that was far more elegant than standard space command furnishings. It told him that she wielded considerable civilian power on this military vessel. He nodded to the gun resting beside her right hand. "Do you think that's necessary, with me?" "I don't know what your rebel captors might have done to you," she explained. Tarrant settled himself on the edge of the room's only other chair. "Oh, you're the only one who plays with my mind. I'm quite normal at the moment." She smiled coldly. "That's why I need the gun. I fear there was some misunderstanding when you left so hastily. I've been worried about you." "Don't," Tarrant warned. "Don't... You'll not fool me a second time." "I can see you're going to be difficult. Well, time heals all wounds, even yours, my wayward son." Her voice was full of motherly sweetness, with just the faintest hint of reproach. Her pretense of familial affection caused a queasy curdling in his stomach. "What do you want?" he asked sharply. "How did you find me?" Picking up the gun, she glided from behind the desk, moved beside him, and ran her left hand over his back. "A locator," she said, pressing hard at a point midway between his shoulder blades. "I see." "Don't look so despondent," she said, shifting to where she could observe his face. "It was a new design. Completely undetectable by any equipment your supposed friends might have." "Reading my mind?" "Del, darling, I've always known you better than you know yourself." She weaved around the desk, returning to her chair. "You needn't feel guilty. Even if you had allowed Blake to put you through the most thorough security examination, he would not have found my little transmitter." Tarrant lunged forward. "How did you know that? Have you already...?" He cut off, realizing too late that she was skillfully goading him into giving her information. She smiled again, obviously pleased with herself. "Don't be quiet on my account. I'm quite qualified to help ease your prickly conscience," she said with mock sympathy. Resting back, Tarrant crossed his legs and tried to match her emotionless nonchalance. "Why don't you just use your machines and your drugs to interrogate me?" he asked, inserting a note of boredom into his voice. "Or do you need the added satisfaction of watching me squirm? You are such a sadistic bitch, Brya. I assume that was one of the reasons that you agreed to have children. Such handy victims, right there in your own living room to torture at will." "You were never mistreated." "That's true. We may as well not have existed as often as we saw you." "My children had the best of everything. Precious little affection I received in return. Both of you rejected my ideals to pursue lives of violence and crime." "Ideals? I didn't realize you were acquainted with the concept." "Ideals," she said as if quoting a book or source, "such as when an ingrate son deserts space command with no thought of what will happen to the family he leaves behind." "I never did understand how I managed that without a pang of //prickly conscience//." He regarded her with the same academic detachment that she was employing. "There were two possibilities. Either I was hoping you'd receive just punishment for the crime of producing children you didn't want, or I simply realized that your influence would protect you. You're the expert, perhaps you can tell me which is true." "Del, I have always done my best for you." Her eyes and voice were soft, compassionate; she was so very believably sincere. He ruthlessly told himself it was a ploy. She was only trying to manipulate him. "Remember that, my darling son. Everything for you." Her long, slender fingers tapped at a button on the desk. The squad of troopers entered. "Take him to a cell," she ordered. He was in the outer corridor, the door sliding closed behind him, when she called after him, "Would you have wanted to grow up weak and pampered?" * * * Hearing a grating noise, Vila looked up. "Tarrant," he said as his comrade was shoved into the cell. "What's happening?" "I'm sorry. This is my fault." "Your fault? How?" "There's no time for explanations." Tarrant turned and shook his bound arms in Vila's face. "Get me out of these." "Can't. They took everything." "Vila..." Vila made a face at the security camera blinking down on them. "Move closer," he instructed. When Tarrant did, partially blocking the view from the camera, Vila slid a thin wire from his sleeve. He had slipped it out of his boot, palmed it during the search, then tucked it into the sleeve of his prison uniform. "I'll give it a go, but I'm not promising anything." It was a simple tumbler mechanism. Vila had it open in less than a minute. His hands free, Tarrant jumped up, grabbed the security camera, and yanked it from the wall. "We have to move quickly," he said. "Open the door." "Huh? Tarrant?" Vila scuttled to obey. The door was a bit more complicated than the cuffs but no challenge. Tarrant stuck his head out the door. "We're lucky, it's clear. All right, Vila, over here, next to me." The pilot plastered himself against the wall next to the open door. Vila slithered beside him. Pounding footsteps drew near, then halted outside the door. "They've escaped," a voice cried. "Start searching. I'll raise an alarm." When the corridor was quiet, Tarrant whispered, "We're only going to have one try. We have to warn Blake. Can you set the coordinates for his base if I get us to the teleport?" "Yes." "Good. Stay close." Tarrant dashed into the corridor, startling a trooper who was coming out of the room across the hall. As the man swung his gun around, the pilot slammed into him, smashing him against the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of him. Before the trooper could recover, Tarrant found the pressure point in his neck and rendered him unconscious. Grabbing up the gun, he called, "This way." Vila was glad that Tarrant's larger size prevented him from seeing the troubles that hampered their journey. More interested in speed than stealth, Tarrant gunned down anyone who crossed their path, using a final burst to take out one of the two men stationed in the teleport area. "You can stay very still or you can die," he told the other. "The coordinates, Vila." Vila's fingers were trembling as he worked the settings, grateful that the design was close to being familiar. "That's it." Tarrant handed him a bracelet and backed them both into the teleport area. "Activate the teleport," he ordered. The man hesitated and Tarrant fired a blast that grazed his left arm. "Do it." Cursing, the trooper obeyed. * * * Blake heard a commotion in the outer office. He was debating investigating the situation when his door burst open and a breathless Vila stumbled in, followed by a grim-faced Tarrant. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You are about to be attacked," Tarrant snapped. "Whatever emergency procedures you have, get them activated. There are Federation ships orbiting the planet. As soon as they're organized they'll be teleporting troops into your base. There might possibly be air strikes as well." Though he had a thousand questions, Blake set them aside. He slammed a series of buttons then opened the base-wide intercom. "This is a code red emergency," he announced. "I want all ships launched on a priority one basis. Be prepared to engage hostile spacecraft. All personnel to battle stations. Invading force reported to be teleporting onto the base proper. This is not a drill." Blake grabbed up the gun that he kept mounted on the wall behind his desk. "You two, come with me," he directed, then strode briskly from the room. He noted that his administrative staff were already donning combat gear and departing for their assigned locations. The corridors were crowded with bodies moving in a hurried but orderly fashion as everyone on the base reacted to the declared emergency. Blake would have been quite pleased with the efficiency of the drama, if he hadn't been so worried. "In here," Blake said, gesturing Vila and Tarrant into a side room. As soon as they were inside, he slammed the door closed behind them, then threw a large bolt across the opening. "There's no lock to pick," he called loud enough to be heard through the thick door. "I'll be back for you later." * * * "Damn," Tarrant slammed his fists into the door. "We could have helped. Damn him." "It might be safer in here," Vila whispered. He was glad of a chance to catch his breath. Tarrant thumped the door twice more before turning around. His face was red with anger but his voice gentle, "How are your legs? Are you all right?" "Fine. Scared. Dazed. You might give a man a chance to figure out what he's doing before you ask him to do the next thing." "There wasn't time. Here, sit down. You're shaking." The room was a bare shell so Tarrant eased him onto the floor where he could lean against a wall. "Worse accommodations than the Federation prison," Vila noted, trying to keep their spirits up. "Rats in a trap," Tarrant countered, pacing the small room. "If Blake loses..." "He won't." "Well, if he does, we're gift wrapped. Damn." He kicked the wall ahead of him then yelped. "You have bare feet." "So I've discovered," Tarrant gritted out between clenched teeth. He hopped over to Vila and folded onto the floor next to him, his hand clutching his sore toes. "I had to work through my temper," he said, still sounding strained. "Calm now?" "No, but in control." He ruffled both hands through his hair. "I suppose in Blake's place I'd have done the same thing, but it doesn't make this," he rapped the floor, "any easier." Vila slipped an arm around Tarrant's shoulders. "What happened? Where did they come from?" "It was my fault. There's a locator. Somewhere in my back." Vila sent his fingers exploring. "Higher, I think." "Yeah, there's a small bump of sorts. It's right next to your spine. It would be easy to miss." "I'm sure that was their intent. I'm sorry, Vila." "Wasn't your fault. You didn't know it was there." "I should have suspected." Tarrant covered his face with his hands. "She said it couldn't have been found with standard detection equipment, but someone might have guessed that it was a likely possibility and figured it out." "She? Your mother?" "Brya," Tarrant corrected. "Use her name. I always do." Tarrant sounded so forlorn. Vila tried to divert his thoughts by changing the subject. "There's one thing I haven't figured out. If they only now finished the teleport, how was it on that ship already?" "That's an easy one. No doubt the project was successfully completed some time ago. They delayed announcing it so they could spring it as a surprise. They might have had this planet targeted for weeks or months. I don't know how long they've known where I was." Vila leaned over and brushed his lips over Tarrant's ear. "It's going to be all right," he soothed. "You were brilliant, getting us out of there and thinking to come here to alert Blake." "Brilliant," Tarrant echoed bleakly. "Oh yes, we Tarrants are always brilliant. It's one of our vices." * * * "You were lucky, Blake," Avon scolded. "If we hadn't returned in time to attack the Federation from the rear, you might have lost half of your fleet. I warned you when we first came here that we needed to have ships regularly patrolling the system." "You were right," Blake said tiredly. "I thought the traffic would call attention to our position. Now we'll have to institute safeguards. Maybe even relocate to another sector." "Closing the barn door after the herd has escaped," Avon muttered. "What was that?" Dayna asked. "An old Earth saying of no import." The door to the conference room slid open and Deva entered. "I have all of the final figures," he said. "Damage reports, replacement costs." Blake accepted the print outs. "I'll look at them later. They aren't urgent. It's the deaths and the injuries..." Dayna put her hand on the rebel leader's arm. "Blake, it was a military victory. They lost twenty times more than we did. If a planned campaign had gone this well, you'd be deliriously happy." "You're right." Blake managed a small smile. "Thanks for telling me that." "Del and I were discussing it earlier," Dayna glanced to the blond man on her other side. "We both thought the outcome couldn't have been better had we deliberately lured the Federation here." "A case of luck," Grant confirmed, "but I'm not complaining. You learn to take what breaks come your way in our business." "Thank the fates for luck," Vila said. "I don't know if Tarrant could have lived with himself if things had turned out differently." Avon looked around. "Where is he? I understand he passed all of your security checks." "In surgery," Blake reported. "My med team is removing the locator. It's a simple procedure." "His mother must be a real bitch," Soolin muttered. "Servalan's equal." "She's dead," Vila said quietly. "She was on one of the Federation ships." "Does Tarrant know?" Vila shrugged. "He must. He knows all of the Federation ships were destroyed, and he went over the list of prisoners for Blake." "I asked him to supply any backgrounds that he could. There were no Tarrants among the survivors. I'd have remembered the name." "I think that's my cue to leave," Grant said. "I need to contact the Federation authorities about a prisoner exchange. I'll get back to you when I've heard, Blake." He gave Dayna's arm a squeeze. "You, I'll see later." "I suppose," Dayna said, acting coy. Avon stood. "I have work to do as well. My lab is in shambles. You might have directed the main battle to a different part of the base, Blake." "The next time the Federation instigates a surprise invasion, I'll be sure to furnish them with a list of off-limit areas." "You do that. Come along, Dayna...Soolin. I believe you offered to help." "Only because you promised to repair the food processors immediately afterwards," Soolin reminded. "A woman cannot live on yellow mush alone." Blake escorted them to the door. "I want to thank all of you for helping me sort through everything. I needed my friends around me. We're going to have to do this more often." "Whenever you have time," Avon responded. "You are the one with the busy schedule." "I know. I'm going to rectify that. I promise." Vila pushed wearily to his feet. "I should collect Tarrant. We're going back to the house to gather our belongings." "Do you need help?" "You have your hands full here. As long as you don't mind loaning us a flyer, we'll manage." "It will be good to have you back," Blake said. "I've missed you, Vila." "Just don't go planning anything too dangerous." * * * Fortunately, the base infirmary had been spared any damage. Even two days after the battle, it was a busy place, bulging with wounded rebels. It took Vila twenty minutes to track down the physician who had treated Tarrant. "He's in recovery," the doctor reported. "It was a bit more complicated than I thought it would be. The pre-op exam turned up some abnormalities. I decided to use a general anaesthesia for the surgery and run some tests while I had him under. The preliminary results point to renal damage, brought about by the drugs he was given when a prisoner." "H-how bad is it?" "Potentially very serious, but we've caught it in time and have corrective treatment that will cure the problem." "That's good. You'll be keeping him here, then?" "Actually, no. It isn't an immediate threat and we have our hands full at the moment. In a week or two, when we're less busy, I'll readmit him." "I'm sure he was disappointed. He was anxious to be assigned a ship." "He doesn't know yet. I didn't have the test results until a short time ago. I was waiting until he was fully awake to tell him." "Let me tell him," Vila proposed. "He'll take it better. Is he up to piloting a flyer and to help pack our things?" "As long as he doesn't exhaust himself. His condition doesn't require any special restrictions for now." * * * Vila surveyed the dozen boxes and sighed tiredly. "I didn't realize that we had this much." "We?" Tarrant questioned mildly. "Most of it is yours. I don't think we'll finish today." "You're right. And since we won't finish today, we might as well leave the rest until tomorrow." "That's not what I said. We could..." "Tarrant," Vila fixed mournful eyes the pilot's way, "I'm tired. I'm still recuperating, and I've already had a physically stressful couple of days helping sort out the base." "Sorry," Tarrant was quick to apologize. "I wasn't thinking." He looked at Vila with concern. "Are you sure you're ready to return to active duty? You might be rushing it." "I'm sure. Unwilling but sure." "I'm more than ready," Tarrant's eyebrows rose in a faint imitation of jaunty, "and I've always been willing." Vila considered using the opening to tell Tarrant that he wasn't as ready as he thought, but there was the other distressing topic that needed discussed as well. He opted to start with that. "You do know about your mother?" "I know." "You haven't said anything." Tarrant turned his attention back to dismantling their computer. "Do you expect me to mourn her? She's dead. Good riddance. The galaxy is..." he cut off, his voice breaking. Vila stared at the pilot's back and cursed to himself. //Damn that woman!// But Tarrant had to face his loss. Better here than to have it fester for months on end. Leaning heavily on the arm of his chair, Vila creaked to his feet and forced his sore and aching body across the room. Hearing Vila's approach, Tarrant tried to divert him. "I'm almost done here. You rest." Putting his hands to the younger man's shoulders, Vila began a soft massage. "Let's go to bed." "I'm really not in the mood." "Doesn't matter. I'm too tired myself. But I think we could both use some closeness," Vila finished, restating Tarrant's words from so many months and so many experiences ago. Tarrant shivered slightly then nodded. "You're probably right." He allowed Vila to lead him to the bedroom, where they stripped in silence. They grew comfortable, settling on their sides, with Vila facing Tarrant's back and wrapping his arms about the younger man. Tarrant caressed Vila's arm, ruffling over the light coating of hair. "Would you think me terribly foolish if I told you that I'm sorry she's dead?" he asked softly. "No." "She said something on the ship. I think she did love me. She implied that she was deliberately strict and aloof because she wanted me to grow up strong. That makes sense, considering Federation Alpha society. The weak don't survive." "Yes, it does make sense." "And what she did after Gauda Prime. That could have been for me too. If I hadn't been of use to the Federation, they would have executed me. By manipulating me into providing them with technical assistance, Brya was saving my life." Vila pulled his hand back and stroked Tarrant's hair. If the pilot found comfort in good memories of his mother, Vila didn't have the heart to contradict him. But what would he do when he learned about his medical problem, directly attributable to the drug regimen that Brya had allowed? Maybe even planned? She had poisoned her own son. "She did love me," Tarrant repeated with more conviction. "I'm glad I managed to see her that last time." That set it. Vila couldn't ruin Tarrant's illusions. He'd have to talk to the doctor and convince him to lie. You didn't tell young men who chased after rainbows' treasures that the pot of gold was really a quagmire of evil. "I'm glad you did too," Vila lied. He squirmed closer, resting his lips against Tarrant's bony back while pressing his hips into firm buttocks. His penis quirked with interest, but Vila ordered it to relax. To his surprise he didn't need that right now; he was content to cuddle. And with a quick start of surprise Vila realized that pots of gold did exist. And just maybe he and Tarrant had found one.


End file.
